Weeks of Muggles
by writing.with.a.flourish
Summary: Dumbledore has a plan for house-unity. He places Harry, Ron, Blaise, and Draco in the same house without magic for a week. While there, they must complete a different task everyday to pass their classes. H/D, R/B.
1. This Prank

**Just wanted to say that I do not, of course, own Harry Potter in anyway. Also, I wanted to thank and recognize my new found beta, StarShineDC...you should read her work, too. It's fantastic and everything. So thank you for reading this, oh kind and lovely readers. **

"The Muggle Comprehension League has asked me to allow them to hold a social event involving Muggle media and games in honor of the newly established Muggle Appreciation Month." Albus Dumbledore paused here to send his gaze over the expanse of students before him. When he continued, it was with twinkling eyes. "I agreed and have come to a decision for those of us at Hogwarts: a party or dance will be held for each year level tomorrow night. The following morning, I ask that you check your billboards in each of your commons. Instructions for the next week will be there." There was another pause in which he gauged the reaction of students. "And without further ado, enjoy the rest of your meal!"

The elderly headmaster sat down in his chair in the center of the head table and promptly began to eat a rather delicious-looking slice of ham. Students continued to watch a moment - some intrigued, some wary, all curious - before turning to discuss the announcement. Some about the Great Hall were prattling excitedly on what they were going to wear to these dances and who they would take - one night was _so_ not enough time to really get a good date, wasn't it?

Then there were students like Harry Potter, who had immediately attempted to bang his head repeatedly on the wooden table. He only succeeded in emerging from his dinner plate with mashed potatoes dripping from his face, which Ron Weasley found absolutely hilarious. After giving Ron a rude hand gesture and ignoring Hermione's objections to the juvenile gesture, he told his two best friends in a monotone voice, "This is it, the end of the world. Another required dance. The Yule Ball was bad enough." He and Ron shared sympathetic looks, the pair of them had been miserable. "I can't stand another _dance_. It's been good knowing you two..."

Hermione looked skeptical, rolled here eyes. "Really, Harry? You've defeated a basilisk and managed to escape You-Know-Who several times, and yet a simple dance is the end of the world?"

Harry nodded frantically and Ron joined him. The girl rolled her eyes and muttered what sounded like "Boys" before rising. "Right, then. I'm going to the-"

"Library," said Ron and Harry together, resulting in a glare from Hermione before she continued on.

"Well, yes, but this time I encourage you two to do the same... That potions essay is due in three days. Knowing Snape, he'll take off at least thirty points from just Harry if he missed _another_ due date. But if it was you, too, Ron, Gryffindor could lose fifty points! Particularly with a dance coming up. He'd think the pair of you were slacking because of it."

As true as this was, neither boy was willing to give up their remaining "free" time to do a potions essay. However, they nodded reluctantly before shoving their empty plates forward on the table and standing up. Then they ran, leaving Hermione standing in the Great Hall with a rather Mrs. Weasley-ish look of disapproval on her face.

The next day came and went and dragged on and on until there was nothing more left of the day except for the two hours they had to themselves and then the Muggle Appreciation Dance. Harry and Ron were slumped in the Gryffindor common room with bored expressions on their faces as they played chess and willed away the time with idle chatter.

Neither of them noticed that the two hours had passed until Hermione was rushing down the spiral stairs leading to the girl's dormitories. "Harry! Ron! We need to go! The party's about to start and neither of you are ready!"

Jumping at the sound and tone of her voice, the two put away the chess board and fled up the stairs, coming down a few moments later to see her scowling and tapping her foot at them. The boys quickly scrambled out of the portrait of the Fat Lady to avoid another scolding, for Hermione was still ushering them out of the room.

When they arrived, the party was already in full swing for most people. Music that no one (except for those who were Muggleborn and a few scattered students) recognized was blasting at a high volume from a wizarding record machine that had been charmed for the volume. Lights that were potentially problematic for epileptics were flashing on the flooded dancefloor. People were dancing in groups or in couples, very few having actually had the time to bother finding dates. There were some standing awkwardly by the refreshment table, others playing provided Muggle games, or (if you were Draco Malfoy) refusing to enter the party at all.

"This is degrading," the blonde announced to the few surrounding him who cared. Other Slytherins in their year were more interested in grinding against people on the dancefloor than joining Draco in objecting to this farce. "Muggle party, Muggle food, Muggle music... At a wizarding school! If my father heard about this, that old fool Dumbledore would be out of here in no time!" Crabbe and Goyle, two gorilla-like boys, grunted in agreement. Pansy Parkinson, the bint, was edging away to follow Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott to the dancefloor. They were making the Hufflepuffs uncomfortable and it looked like quite a bit of fun.

But Draco's diatribe had also been heard by the passing Gryffindor trio. "Urgh," Ron muttered. "Ferret's complaining as usual."

Somehow or another, Malfoy heard this comment with his "superior hearing skills" (as he would claim later). He turned to the trio, head angled cockily. "Of course, you'd want in, Weasel. Want to snap your wand and join the filthy beings... like your father?" His usual sneer marred his features as his cold grey eyes took in the bespectacled boy at his side. "As for you, Potter, it seems like you've already joined them. You're a bad enough wizard, after all... Are you sure that giant oaf friend of yours didn't mistake you for someone else?"

"Bad enough wizard, huh? This is coming from someone who can't do a thing for himself..." Harry paused, contemplative for a moment. "I'm sorry, I meant _her_self. You obviously use your dear old daddy's influence to just slide through school."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed and his cheeks took on a pink tinge that might've been anger or embarrassment. "I'd watch my step if I were you, Potter. I am perfectly capable of destroying you." He swept off proudly in the opposite direction with Crabbe and Goyle at his side, accidentally going _into _the large room the party was being held in. It only took a few moments for him to realize this, but it was too late to back out. He only swore quietly to himself.

The Golden Trio entered the party moments after he did and looked around. To Harry and Ron's mutual relief, it was nothing like the Yule Ball. It was a rather quaint, really, with none of the pomp and circumstance that had ruled the last one. There was even a karaoke machine set up in the far corner, much to Harry's surprise, and Seamus Finnegan had command of it. He had the microphone cord wrapped around his hand and his hips were jerking side to side in time with the beat.

_So scared of breaking it, that you won't let it bend_

_I wrote two hundred letters I will never send_

_Sometimes these cuts are so much deeper than they seem_

_You'd rather cover up, I'd rather let them bleed._

Hermione ran over because she was one of the few people who actually knew what Seamus was doing and wanted to see what other songs were available and Ron followed because his father would undoubtedly want to know all about this. Uncomfortable in the crowd, Harry soon became one of the awkward stand-by-the-refreshment-table people, though he didn't take anything from the table except a Mars Bar he was secretly thrilled to see.

His green eyes scanned the crowd with some amusement slowly breaking through at the sight of all these witches and wizards deal with Muggle "oddities." Some they had decided on conjuring tomatoes to throw at Seamus, who laughingly put up a shield charm to protect himself. Others lifted their wand, lit with _lumos_, and rocked side to side, much to the bafflement of their peers. The people who were playing the Muggle games had decided to spice up a round of truth or dare by jinxing it so that no one could lie and the consequences of ignoring a dare were humiliating, if Parvarti Patil's clown suit was of any indication.

Malfoy, he noticed, was steadily becoming an awkward standing-by-the-refreshment-table person himself, his cup (Harry never thought he'd see plastic cups at Hogwarts) never empty for long. Watching him, though, Harry was slowly beginning to wonder if the drinks were spiked... Malfoy seemed to fighting an inner battle with himself. His foot would begin to tap and then he'd stare at it until it quelled and then he'd start to bob his head slightly until that was also forcefully stopped. He was, Harry realized with some amusement, quelling the urge to dance.

"_Tarantallegra_,"whispered Harry, pointing his wand at the blond teen. The effect was immediate and Malfoy's legs began to flail uncontrollably. He tried to reach for his wand and grab the table for balance at the same time and ended up smacking someone and getting the punch largely spilled onto himself. With laughter from spectators ringing in his ears and his hair and clothes dripping, Draco turned towards Harry with his teeth gritted and his eyes stormy. Then, before Harry could react, a fist slammed into his jaw. He retaliated immediately, though one of Draco's still-flailing legs managed to knock him off balance and send them both to the floor. More eyes were drawn their way as the two engaged in their own, awkward dance on the floor with grunted swears and short-range blows.

That's when the Weasley twins intervened, having snuck from their own year's party out of boredom. The younger kids were much more fun to prank, after all, and the pair now saw a golden opportunity,

"As entertaining as this is," Fred began.

"We'd like to see something more entertaining, wouldn't we?" George finished, smirking as he gestured with arms to the gathered crowd. There was an appreciative laugh from some, simple curiosity from others. What could the twins possibly be planning here?

"So what do you think we should do with them, Fred?"

"I'm not sure about you, George, but I think we should torture them a bit. After all, they've ruined this fine gathering."

"They're at least doing a fine job of trying. What shall we do to them?" George shook his head, seemingly disappointed in the duo. The two had stopped fighting, Harry's fist pressed against Draco's cheek and Harry's tie caught in Draco's teeth. There was annoyance in Draco's eyes as he started to push away from the Gryffindor, but the twins' following words stilled him.

"I was thinking something along the lines of..."

"...Shoving them in a closet and..."  
>"...Enchanting the closet to lock them in until..."<p>

The brothers grinned at one another and then at the pair before finishing the plan in unison. "...They kiss."

"Sounds about right," Fred continued.

"Let's do it," George agreed and the twins whipped out their wands and froze them before either could disentangle themselves and go for their own wands.

Those close enough to hear had various reactions, though the prominent one was dark amusement and surprise. Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter kiss? It'd be an outrage! It'd be a scandal! It would probably fuel the gossip mill for weeks.

Beaming, the Weasley twins levitated them into a nearby closet, spelled the door, and walked off. When nothing happened, spectators began to lose interest. If they ever got out of the closet, everyone would know _how_ they'd gotten out.

Neither of the boys were amused by this turn of events. Once the freezing spell wore off, they were both up and as far away as they could manage in the confines of this small closet. Harry suddenly felt a hand across his face.

"_Ouch_! Bloody hell, Malfoy, what was that for?"  
>"Getting us stuck in this godforsaken <em>closet<em>," Draco hissed, reaching into his pocket for his wand. It was lit with a quick _lumos_, bathing them both in a warm glow.

"Aw, poor Malfoy," was Harry's sarcastic response. "Here I was thinking that you were _used_ to being deep in the closet." He watched Draco's cheeks pinken and his eyes seemed to glow even brighter. Harry was able to ignore the odd fluttering he suddenly had in his stomach when Draco's palm went across his cheek again.

"Shut up, Potter. This is obviously your fault and I demand that you get us out at once."

"We can't get out, Malfoy. In case you forgot, we have to kiss."

"You wish you could have that honor," Malfoy spat and Harry only rolled his eyes, not bothering to reply. Kissing Malfoy was a fate worse than death, in his opinion. He'd sooner die in the ruddy closet. He began palming the walls and the door, looking for some way out.

He took his wand and aimed it at the doorknob. "_Alohamora_." There was a flash of light, but it didn't work. With a frustrated sound, he hit the door and spun to face Malfoy. He would never forgive the twins for this.

Draco didn't speak, staring stubbornly back at Harry, and the silence stretched so long, Harry began to wonder if someone had cast _silencio_ on them both. Finally, he scowled. "I am going to hate myself in the morning, and we are never going to speak of this again."

"What are you talking about, Po-?"

Harry planted a chaste, brief kiss on Draco's lips and tried the door. Nothing. "Oh, come off it! We did it, didn't we? Open up!"

Four evil, vile, terrible words appeared on the middle of the door of the closet, easily viewed by the _lumos_ Draco's wand had kept up even though the blonde seemed to have been stunned by the brush of lips. He was slack-jawed, staring at Harry. _Five seconds_, the door read._ Both sides._

Harry punched the door hard, pain singing up his arm. "_Really_?" he demanded and jumped when Draco's voice permeated the air at a volume Harry had definitely not been expecting.

"_What was that, Potter_?"

A stubborn look appeared in Harry's eyes as he turned to face his Slytherin tormentor. He was seriously regretting coming to this party, Hermione's wrath or no. "I'm not going to spend the night in a closet with you, Malfoy, so shut it."

Draco seemed to be hyperventilating a little bit, and his cheeks were flushed a deep red. Harry refused to be charmed. "Damn that, Potter, and damn you! How dare you? I never intended my first kiss to be with the Boy-Who-Forgot-To-Die-Because-He..." Draco went entirely still and his mouth formed a startled little "o" as his words caught up with him. "I said that aloud," he whispered.

There was a stretch of silence while Harry processed this. Never in a million years had he thought Draco was as inexperienced with kissing as he was. His own experiences hadn't been the greatest, though, and this wasn't going to be an exception. It was nice to know that Draco would have to suffer as well, though. "Nice, Malfoy. Very smooth."

Draco pressed himself back against the wall, seething. "Shut it, Potter."

Harry rolled his eyes, unimpressed. "Fine, but I'm getting out of here." Again, he placed his lips on Draco's. This time, the Slytherin pulled away, so Harry backed him into the wall and firmly gripped Draco's hands to keep him from struggling away.

Their lips came together again and this time stayed. He was just pulling back with a frustrated sound when something wet touched his lips. Both reared back, Draco's retreat more mental considering his proximity to the wall. They stared at one another for a long moment until Draco stepped forward, fingers diving into Harry's hair, and his mouth assaulted Harry's. A groan welled up, unbidden, and burst into Draco's mouth, answered by a moan from the blonde. Their tongues met and it was like some spell went down their spines. Harry's fingers curled into Draco's robes and then he felt his back against the wall and his eyes, which had begun to flutter shut, flew open again.

On a gasp, he pulled away and stared at Draco for a moment before he disentangled himself from the blonde and flung open the closet door. It hit the opposite wall with a _bang_, though he didn't care about who noticed him now. He stormed out of the party too quickly and too angrily to encourage conversation, and didn't stop until he was in his bedroom. He immediately crawled into bed and willed himself to sleep, Draco's taste still on his lips.


	2. Unbelievable Situation

**Hello, again. I wanted to thank the readers again. Mainly, though, I wanted to thank StarShine DC, my beta, again! Go read her stuff when you get the chance!**

Harry Potter still lay in his bed the next morning, simply staring at the ceiling. It was ten o'clock, and, despite having been awake since seven, Harry refused to move from his bed. He could hear the rustling of sheets from surrounding beds as their occupants reluctantly began to stir. A shrill shriek sounded from downstairs, startling all the boys in the room and sending them (sans Harry) rushing down the narrow, spiraling staircase to find the source of the commotion, some stumbling as they went.

Minutes later, Ron clambered back into the room rather ungracefully. He immediately went to Harry, shaking vigorously. "_Harry! _You have to come check the bulletin board! It's-oh," he realized.

"You were awake?"

Harry gave the blurry outline of his friend a look that clearly said, "obviously," and snatched up his glasses from the bedside table before asking, "What's so important, mate, that you needed to try and wake me like that?"

Ron had the decency to look guilty, freckled cheeks reddening, for a split-second before shrugging. "It's... well... Dumbledore... er... stuff," he explained lamely.

_How specific_, Harry thought as he rolled his eyes, rolling out of bed and dressing quickly before meandering towards the staircase.

Arriving at the bottom, Harry could see a crowd gathered around the bulletin board. Students were pushing at each other, frantically to read the brightly coloured notice that had been posted overnight. Hermione was sitting calmly in one of the chairs near the fireplace as she knitted what looked like giant elephant-ears. "Good morning, Harry!" she greeted brightly, setting her knitting needles aside when Harry dropped onto the couch by her chair. "Did you sleep well?"

"Fine," responded Harry absently. He was trying to get a glimpse of what the notice said from a distance.

Hermione cleared his throat, expecting his full attention. "Dumbledore has decided to make the students from fourth to seventh year go live in a Muggle town for a week. It didn't say where, but we aren't going to be allowed to use magic in the town or in the house you're assigned. I plan on taking several school texts, of course, as I don't intend to fall behind in my studies. Also, we're being paired with one person from our own house and two people from another. I suppose Dumbledore is also trying to promote house unity throughout this Muggle Appreciation Week."

Harry stared at her; he was wondering how on earth she had possibly said all of that in one breath. "Well, do we know who we're boarding with?" he asked after a slight pause proved that she had finished for the moment.

"Er, yes..." She suddenly looked uncomfortable. "We do. I didn't check to see who you're with, but... I'm with Lavender from our house, which is acceptable. But I'm also boarding with two Slytherin girls: Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode. It's a bit awkward, actually. Ron has absolutely refused to look at who he's boarding with." At this, she looked pointedly at the redheaded boy who had perched on the arm of the couch next to Harry.

Ron's cheeks reddened slightly as he quickly defending himself. "Hermione, if they put you with those two Slytherin prats, I can only guess that they're going to put me with someone awful, like that tosspot Zacharias Smith or Michael Corner or... or worse..." His expression clearly displayed just how bad "worse" would be.

This made sense to Harry, but he couldn't resist teasing his friend. "Come on, Ron, I thought you were supposed to be a Gryffindor!" Ron sent him a _look_ so, rolling his eyes, Harry fought his way through the crowd of people gathered around the board. It had lessened significantly, but there was a herd of Fourth Years blocking the way. When he finally reached as close as he could get to the front, Harry first read the instructions of the week, which were almost exactly what Hermione had said.

Starting that very afternoon, two pairs of students (each pair from differing Houses) would be place in a home for one week with no magic. It seemed simple enough to Harry, especially because he had lived with the Dursleys. He knew enough about Muggle technology that he should have no real troubles with this. Then he saw whom he was rooming with, and his previous conception of "simple enough" vanished immediately. He had to re-read the list several times before he believed it.

**Draco Malfoy - Slytherin**

**Harry Potter - Gryffindor**

**Ronald Weasley - Gryffindor**

**Blaise Zabini - Slytherin**

**Year 5**

In a daze, Harry walked back to the cushioned area where Ron and Hermione sat with curious expressions and said shortly, "I'm with you Ron." Ron relaxed briefly before realizing that something was off about Harry's facial expression.

"Who else is staying the Muggle house with us, Harry?" he asked cautiously, his body tense again. He received no response but a blank stare. "Harry?" Ron stood up and began to shake Harry again, who immediately snapped out of his daze and glared at Ron.

"Again with the shaking! Cut it out, Ron! If you really want to know who we're staying with, go look for yourself. I can't even comprehend anything right now... It's too cruel. How could Dumbledore do this to us?" He brought his hand to his forehead, tone suddenly hopeful. "Maybe I'm sick and imagining things! Hermione?"

Hermione obliged and placed her hand on Harry's forehead, her apologetic expression dashing Harry's last hopes. "I don't think you're sick; you don't have a fever... Whoever you're boarding with can't be _that_ bad, can they?" She nodded towards Ron. "Go check, will you?"

He nodded stiffly, expression grave, and was gone. Soon after he had disappeared, a loud yell cut through the muted tones of conversation (some people were displeased by their housemates, others excited, more indifferent) in the common room. Ron stomped over toward Harry and Hermione, clutching the torn notice in his hand and waving it over his head like an angry flag. "I can't believe that Dumbledore would place us with that... that... scum! Corner and Smith would've been bad, but this is unbelievable! I can't believe Dumbledore would do something like this!"

"Who is it, Ron?" the girl asked with exasperation.

"The bloody Ferret, and that rich sodding boy who's always with him... Zabini!" Ron exploded, his face now a lovely shade of violet.

Hermione looked mildly surprised at the news, but responded easily. "Well, of course, Ron. If Dumbledore really wants to promote House unity, he's obviously going to put pairs with.. er... well-known rivalries together. If they become friends, then it could lead others down the same path!"

"I'm not going to become friends with that prat," Harry interrupted, more offended by Hermione's suggestion than by the room assignment. "I don't think it's even possible for someone like _him_ to have friends! It's even worse because of what your brothers did last night." Harry's expressions darkened. Hermione and Ron both looked slightly guilty.

"Well, Harry-" Hermione was cut off by Professor McGonagall's magnified voice booming throughout the common room.

"All fourth through seventh year students must begin packing for their trip at once. We ask that all students pack a _reasonable _amount of clothing and other items. You are staying for a week, not a lifetime. There will be food provided as well as an allowance should all chores be completed. Your chores will be explained when you arrive. Students must meet their assigned groups in the Great Hall at precisely one:fifteen this afternoon. Thank you."

Hermione jumped to her feet as the voice faded, looked at Harry and Ron with a pointed expression, and exclaimed, "We had better get to it!" Groaning their protests, the boys stood up, waved their goodbyes to Hermione, and joined Seamus Finnegan, Dean Thomas, and Neville Longbottom in walking to their dormitory.

Neville was the first to speak. "Dean and I got put with Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. What luck," he mused sarcastically, heaving a sigh. "I swear those two have had it out for me since Harry convinced me to fight more for myself in second year... Who did you get, Harry?" Seamus and Dean turned to hear the response, too.

"We," Harry's gesture encompassed Ron, "got put with Malfoy and that Zabini guy." Nodding, a fairly dejected Ron trudged towards his bed to fish out his trunk.

Seamus exploded into laughter. "Really, 'Arry? You got put into a house, basically separated from civilization, for a week, with Malfoy? After what Fred and George, the geniuses, did to ya last night?" He continued to laugh.

At that moment, the Weasley twins had been navigating towards their own dormitories through the small hallway. "Did someone speak of our genius?" George asked as Fred and he slid sideways into the room instead of proceeding forwards.

Fred followed. "They always speak of our genius, George, you brilliant moron. Anyhow, thought we should apologize to Harry Potter, here, before we find ourselves in Azkaban for assaulting the Boy-Who-Lived."

"Our Savior!" George added in a high-pitched voice, adding a girlish swoon. At this, Ron, Seamus, Dean, and Neville were in various states of laughter, with Harry simply collapsing face down onto his bed and shooting out his middle finger.

Dean explained Harry's mood with a wide grin. "For the muggle project, Harry was placed with the closet-kissing git himself!" Fred and George began clapping as they crowded around Harry's bed. They began to throw various items into the trunk that had just been revealed from under the bed.

"Oh, pack this, loverboy! Prince Prat shall love this!" one of the twins said, holding up the miniature Hungarian Horntail that Harry had pulled from a sack as the choice of which dragon he was to fight the year before during the Triwizard Tournament.

Harry sat up, snatched the small dragon from the boy's hand, and muttered, "Oh, shove it. This is all your fault."

The Weasley twins winked at their audience before falling to their knees on either side of the bed and pleading with the boy. "Oh, Savior! Please forgive us, for we have sinned against you!" George began dramatically.

"Oh, shut it!" The twins laughed and began to back out of the dormitory room as they continued to make their dramatic apologies, gesturing wildly. Harry threw a pillow at them.

Hours later, Harry and Ron had parted and said their goodbyes to Hermione, who was less than thrilled to have to join her group, and were now standing awkwardly in an isolated corner of the Great Hall, trying to avoid being seen by the two Slytherins. Their attempts were in vain, sadly, as Blaise caught sight of them (Harry decided to blame Ron's hair, earning an elbow in the ribs) within five minutes. The four teenagers sized each other up a moment before, sneering, Draco leaned against the wall. Blaise stood beside him, arms folded over his chest. Not a word was said between them in the entire fifteen minutes they stood together, waiting.

"Students who are preparing to leave," McGonagall announced, "now is the time to depart. To all those troublemakers, remember - the trace is still on you and the Headmaster has his ways of knowing if you do anything ridiculous." Still not speaking, and definitely not looking at one another, Harry's group marched out of the castle grounds into Hogsmeade, where there were several cars waiting for the groups.

"This is bloody weird," muttered Ron into Harry's ear as they climbed into the car. Harry nodded his agreement, not willing to give up his silence. He felt as though he and Draco were having a silent battle of wills and wasn't about to lose.

The trip to the town, which seemed to be somewhere near Hastings, didn't take very long, and was taken in silence. When they arrived at their home for the next week, they struggled out of the car with their suitcases (their trunks had been transfigured on the way) and stared at the house. It was fairly small, built of bricks, had a fading red door, and two sets of windows on the front which were adorned with white shutters. A white picket fence surrounded the perimeter of a cleanly cut lawn and there was a happy looking flowerbed along the house's border. The silence continued and no one moved until... "What is this dump? It looks like home for mutts!" Draco exploded. Harry held a small dance number in his head, not hearing Zabini's murmured words to Draco. The blonde said nothing more, seething silently now.

Harry and Ron, exchanging glances, were the first to move towards the house. They were in tandem: May as well get it over with.

Inside, it was simply furnished with wooden, almost brittle looking furniture. The lighting seemed to be a single wire that ran along the middle of the plain ceiling, meeting the single bulb that hung in the middle of the hallway. A rickety-looking staircase stood right by the kitchen. Draco looked like he was ready to explode again; Ron simply looked around in confused wonder; Zabini simply didn't seem to care; Harry was already aiming to raid the refrigerator. Silent battles of wills made him thirsty, it seemed.

The four of them abandoned their suitcases in the foyer and went their separate ways.

"Harry!" Ron called a few minutes later. "What is this?" Turning away from the fridge (he'd already raided the cabinets and had found a substantial amount of dishes), Harry walked towards his friend's voice.

"What is wha-?" He stopped in his tracks. Ron was standing close to the wall flipping a small switch on the wall up and down. The single bulb in the hallway flicked with each flip. On and off. On and off. Harry quickly grabbed his hand to stop that nonsense. "It's a light switch, Ron. It controls the electricity. Play with it, and you could start a fire." Ron jerked his hand away quickly, looking warily at the light switch.

"Muggles and their silly fire-starting inventions," Malfoy scoffed from nearby. Harry spun around to retort and caught sight of Malfoy raising his wand; he was pointing it towards his suitcase as if he intended to levitate it up the stairs.

Harry stepped forward quickly and grabbed his arm. "We're not allowed to use magic, Malfoy. The trace is still on us, don't forget. We're out of Hogwarts; any magic would be attributed to us. You heard Professor McGonagall."

Draco looked as though he might argue for a moment before jerking his arm out of Harry's grip, his sneer firmly in place. "Oh, whatever, Potter." But his wand was tucked away once more.

Harry shook his head once before picking up his suitcase and carrying it upstairs. Ron followed suit. Draco muttered, "This is slave's work," before unsuccessfully attempting to lift his suitcase. He immediately dropped the heavy thing his on his foot and cursed quietly.

In contrast, Zabini let a rare chuckle loose as he heaved his own suitcase over his shoulder and marched up the stairs with ease. He didn't even look at Harry, who pressed against the wall on his way down the stairs. Draco, struggling to remain dignified as he limped around his suitcase, tried to figure out a way to carry the bloody thing without getting injured further.

Harry looked at him oddly as he made his way to the kitchen for a drink. When he heard a sudden, "Damn this!" He wandered back to the hallway in time to see Draco drop down onto a stair, glaring menacingly at his suitcase. Harry sighed to himself, debating a moment, before picking up the other boy's suitcase and heaving up the stairs. He instantly regretted and nearly dropped it out of spite, but the absolutely shocked look on Draco's face wouldn't let him.

_How much did the ferret pack? _he wondered.That suitcase must have weighed at least twice his own weight... "You pack more stuff than Hermione does," Harry told Malfoy, who, after straightening up and brushing the non-existent dust off of his suit, had followed Harry up the stairs and into the last available room. It was furthest from what seemed to be their single washroom and directly across from Harry's.

"I don't!" the blonde denied, looking down his nose at Harry.

"Sure. Whatever you say." Since the git obviously was "too good" to ruddy well say _thank you_, Harry brushed past him to make a third journey into the kitchen.

He went through the cabinets and things once again just to keep busy, frowning to himself. Why had he even bothered helping that damn Slytherin prat? So what if Malfoy was too weak to carry his own suitcase up? It wasn't Harry's job to take care of him and he was absolutely certain that Malfoy never would've helped Harry in a similar situation.

So Harry went about the kitchen, grumbling over his own kindness. Check the counter, nothing. Check the cabinets, food. Check the freezer, food. Check the refrigerator... There was a note on it.

Frowning, he plucked it from beneath the magnet that kept it stuck to the fridge and scanned it.

_To the finder of this note:_

_Within this icebox, you shall find a magical item related to the first chore you and your new housemates must complete. Please drink the potion within so more instructions can be divulged. These chores, one per day, will count as grades for your classes. _

_Keep in mind:_

_If one of you fails a task, you will all fail._

Harry tacked the note back onto the door before opening it. There was nothing but more food and, yes, there was the potions vial in the center. Harry held it towards the light, inspecting it for a label. He uncorked it and sniffed the contents. It didn't _smell_ like it was poisonous, and he rather doubted that any of the Hogwarts professors would intentionally poison one of them. He didn't see how that could possibly work as a "chore" anyway...

Shrugging, he downed the contents and felt himself beginning to shrink...


	3. Potion Effects

**Right. Everybody reading this needs to stop right now and applaud ShineStarDC. She was beta-ing this for me for at least two hours around twelve in the morning, after working on her fanfiction throughout the duration of the day. *APPLAUSE.***

Ron Weasley was not a quiet person, nor was he a particularly tactful person. These unfortunate character traits explained why he yelled, "Bloody hell! What is _that_?" when he found a small, bespectacled boy of around three or four standing in the middle of the kitchen. The boy was looking at his overly large garments in wonder until he heard the teenager's shout of surprise. Immediately, the dark-haired child looked to his right and left in search of an escape route. When no such path was found, he looked up at Ron with an expression similar to a deer caught in headlights.

"I... I'm sorry!" came the quivering, terrified little voice. "I didn't mean to... to..." He looked around, completely unsure of what he could have possibly done. "Where am I?" he asked timidly. The toddler looked terrified.

Ron shook his head as he checked to see if this was an illusion and stared at the child before kneeling on one knee. He reached out, brushed the boy's thick bangs away and sucked in a sharp breath when the lightning shaped scar confirmed his fears. "Harry? Is that you?" The small boy nodded confirmation of his name, but continued to look frightened. "Well... I don't know what happened to you, but this is a muggle house in the middle of... I have no idea where, but..." His voice trailed off. Ron clapped Harry on his shoulder, causing the child's knees to buckle slightly. But he didn't notice, getting to his feet and shouting, "Oi! You two Slytherin prats should get your arses down here!"

"What is it, Weasel? Are you incapable of making your own meals now?" Draco strolled into the room with Blaise right behind him. Before his polite summoning, the fair-haired boy had been sitting on his creaky, old bed, contemplating the small, yet so significant sign of kindness that Potter had shown him.

_Why_ would he do that? Potter hated him! Just as he hated Potter! It had always been that way. Ever since first year, his mind insisted, it had been that way. _Well... not always, _Draco corrected himself with a sigh. Draco recalled his first meeting with the famous Potter - not that he'd known who it was at the time - before the term had even started. _I tried so hard to impress him to begin with_... He had offered the boy his friendship, after all.

He groaned quietly to himself, unwilling to delve into the subject of his past intentions. He'd made a fool of himself in hindsight and, well, when he'd tried to offer his hand in friendship just before the Sorting, he'd been brushed aside once again. It had been humiliating... And ever since then-

Draco was saved from further ruminations by Weasley's rather rude shout. Secretly grateful, he stood and headed towards the stairs to see Blaise waiting for him. "Wonder what he wants," the other boy murmured as they heading to the kitchen, where they would be introduced to the lovely situation at hand.

Ron reddened, before grinding out, "No. Not the issue, but remind me to stop you from any attempt to cook. You'd probably kill us all."

"What is the problem, then?" Blaise's calm voice cut through the argument before it could begin.

Ron glared at Malfoy quickly before angling his body to reveal the young toddler, who Draco instantly recognized as one Harry Potter. "Now. Which one of you did _this_?" Ron demanded, a violent gesture emphasizing the word. The small boy trembled and looked up at his spectators, chewing nervously on his bottom lip. The one that was beginning to resemble a tomato scared him with his loud voice and wild gestures. The dark boy returned Harry's stare with no emotion showing in his tawny eyes. Quivering, Harry quickly tore his gaze away and landed on the very pale-haired boy who looked shocked rather than angry or emotionless. He immediately seemed like the safest choice of the three, though the blonde was soon looking back towards Ron.

"You think _we_ did this, Weasel? Why on earth would we possibly do this? There's no motive!" Draco demanded, stepping forward and jabbing his index finger towards Ron. In the next moment, he was pacing, arms thrown into the air. "_Nous n'avons pas fait cela, vous tromper! J'ai moi-même, ne ferait jamais ça en général. Il n'y a pas motif! Aucun des éléments à charge!_" Ron seemed to have been caught somewhere between angry or confused, causing his face to resemble a rather unfortunate fish. His mouth opened and closed as if he were gasping for air, completing the look.

"He speaks French when he's overly emotional, obviously." Unruffled by his Housemate's outburst, Blaise walked forward, carefully looking around the tiny kitchen. He quickly spotted the note tacked to the refrigerator door, grabbed it, and read it quickly before glancing up. "This is evidence that we did not do it." Ron look highly doubtful (but less fishlike as his attention was drawn away from the still rambling Malfoy) as he grabbed the note himself and read silently,

_To the finder of this note:_

_Within this icebox, you shall find a magical item related to the first chore you and your new housemates must complete. Please drink the potion within so more instructions can be divulged. These chores, one per day, will count as grades for your classes._

_Keep in mind:_

_If one of you fails a task, you will all fail._

"Informative," Ron declared sarcastically as he threw the paper into the air. It fluttered down to the floor, where little Harry picked it up and cocked his head as he attempted to understand the jumble of letters. Completely baffled, he waved paper in the air and scowled at it as well as a child his age could.

Draco, attention caught by the motion, found himself plucking the note from his small hand before squatting down beside the boy and reading the short aloud, explaining the events to them both. Harry looked up at the blond boy and smiled shyly for the first time since he had "arrived."

Draco leaned away quickly, startled by the smile. He looked up at Blaise and Ron quickly to assure himself that they weren't paying him any mind before inching closer to the child again. "You're in England... We're going to look after you for a bit, Harry. My name is Draco. That idiot," he pointed to Ron, "is Ron... I call him Weasel. That other boy is Blaise."

Harry nodded and stuck his thumb into his mouth, rocking back and forth on his heels as he absorbed the information as best he could. He seemed to have relaxed a little bit and his bright green eyes combed the room with a newfound curiosity. Ron was still having a one-sided argument with Blaise, the Slytherin largely unresponsive and clearly disinterested. Ignoring them, and wanting to get away from Weasley's irritating accusations, Draco walked out of the room and gestured for Harry to follow.

With the same motivation as Draco (Ron was so _loud_), Harry happily trotted after the longer-legged boy until he found himself in what seemed to be a living room. Thumb back in his mouth, Harry began to look around.

"Any questions, now that we're away from those buffoons?" Draco asked lightly, capturing his attention.

Harry smiled again and said, "What's a Muggle?" Draco looked down at the paper in his hand again before answering. They weren't supposed to be using magic, after all, and the note had said more instructions would appear after someone drank the potion. Were there specific instructions he was supposed to follow? Was this child version of Harry supposed to know about magic? This time when Draco turned the note over, he noticed more writing.

_You have several tasks to complete now that one of four has drunk the potion._

_First and foremost, the child should not be told about magic. _

_You have one day to care for the child as a Muggle would._

_There will be a professor arriving shortly before the potion wears off._

_The child will be questioned and his/her answers will determine your grade, which will be based off the following list of tasks you all must complete._

_Chores_

_1. Don't kill him/her. You may be required to feed the child to ensure this._

_2. Make sure the child is happy. You may be required to be nice to the child._

_3. Play with him/her. There are Muggle board games and Muggle entertainment provided._

_Good luck!_

Draco read the page a second time before responding, his Slytherin traits coming into play. Still, though, it was difficult to come with a lie in the face of such a trusting, sweet expression. He cleared his throat. "Er... A Muggle is a... type of person." _Brilliant, _he quietly berated and tried not to let his irritation show.

Harry seemed satisfied though, attention already wandering away so he could look about the room once more. "Are you hungry?" Draco asked quickly, remembering the contents of the note. The small boy nodded vigorously. "Right then... This way, back to the kitchen!"

He turned quickly, striding back down the hall when he felt a warm, soft presence on his left leg. Draco glanced down to see a small tuft of dark hair attached to skinny little arms that had suddenly banded around his leg in a tight little hug. Harry didn't seem about to release Draco, either, so the Slytherin continued to stiffly move forward, with a giggling Harry clinging on for a ride.

As they arrived in the kitchen, Harry finally stood properly, but his fingers remained curled into the fabric of Draco's trousers. Sighing, the blonde offered the note to his fellow Slytherin, bypassing the red-faced Weasley entirely. "Read this. All of it." He made his way towards the cabinets for food as that seemed to be the logical place for it all, and realized with a start that it was all _Muggle_ food. He understood nothing about Muggle food.

Squaring his shoulders and hoping for the best, Draco grabbed the first thing he could see. The label on the little tin can read "Chicken Noodle Soup" in big, red letters. Satisfied that it would probably be something edible, Draco began to look around for a means to open it. He attempted to pry it apart with his fingers, which didn't seem to do much of anything. Next he attempted to stab it open with a very sharp knife he discovered in a nearby drawer, which resulted in the knife bouncing off and coming perilously close to cutting Draco's fingers. With wide eyes, Draco slammed the sharp utensil back into the drawer and vowed to not touch any other blades in the house. Yelling at it did nothing, so, in a fit of exasperation, Draco furiously threw it onto the ground. This, too, did nothing, but the clatter and Draco's flushed cheeks had Harry - who had been watching with quiet curiosity - releasing high-pitched peals of laughter.

When Draco impatiently looked at the child, he pointed at a small device lying innocuously on the counter. "You're so funny, Draco." Draco froze slightly at the use of his first name, but Harry was oblivious. "Ya gotta use a can opener!" He continued to giggle as Draco plucked up the instrument, which looked to him like some sort of Muggle torture device.

"Glad this amuses you," Draco muttered dryly, flicking his gaze to the child and felt his lips beginning to twitch into a smile.

Ron, however, remained unamused and chose this moment to stride over, pick up Harry, and carry the startled child into the next room. He returned seconds later to find Draco striding after them, can and opener still clutched in his hands. "What was that for, Weasley?" he demanded without thinking. Catching the obvious blunder, Draco shoved the unknown tool and can into the redhead's hand to distract him. "You take care of this... You would know more about trivial Muggle artifacts than I."

Ron rolled his eyes, clearly unamused still, but he took the offered can and tool. If anyone was going to take care of Harry, it would be him. "One: I understand just as much about this as the next wizard. Two: I want both of you two to stay _away _from Harry. He's _my_ best mate, and I trust you about as much I trust You-Know-Who."

Blaise, who had been eyeing the can and tool with pursed lips, snatched them away from the redhead and began to use the tool to open the can. He had had just about enough of Weasley's intolerance and overbearing demeanor. He had also had enough of Draco's absolute oblivion in regards to this Muggle device. It seemed rather straightforward to him, which he began to demonstrate with relative ease.

"Clever, Blaise," Draco commented offhand before turning to Ron. "Listen up, Weasley, I only intend to say this once. We're all taking care of Potter, or at least _I _will be included. I, unlike you, actually try not to fail classes." He looked down his nose at Ron, an impressive feat considering their difference in height. "Though trying is hardly necessary for someone of my natural skill," he added flippantly. "Now your precious Dumbledore, one way or another, can see what we students are doing and I have no intention of failing because you're demonstrating typical Gryffindor idiocy." Blaise nodded his agreement with little enthusiasm, gingerly prying the top of the can away.

Ron's facial expression darkened as he headed to block the doorway as though the two Slytherins were going to charge past him and trample the child. "Harry is obviously not himself right now. He's weak! And I won't have scum like you shipping him off to You-Know-Who the first bloody chance you get! So," Ron glared at Draco, "you can go and bugger off!"

Irritated, Draco was about to reply haughtily when he glimpsed said child standing just behind Ron, peeking up at the angry redhead with scared, terrified, and... teary eyes. Any retaliation Draco had on the tip of his tongue was gone the moment he noticed those tears. They had to make sure the child was happy, didn't they? Arguing clearly wouldn't accomplish that.

He straightened his spine, looked pointedly at the small figure in the hall. "You're making a fantastic impression on the boy, aren't you?"

"What are you talking about, Malfoy?"

Blaise appeared from behind Draco, looked faintly accomplished now that the can was opened and on the counter. He swiped away a stray piece of hair. "Your 'best mate,'" Blaise mocked, "is standing right behind you and he seems rather upset by your performance." He brushed imaginary dust from his shoulder and, more to irritate Weasley than to get on Harry's good side, he allowed a smile to curve his lips. Harry returned the smile with a watery one, making Blaise fairly uncomfortable. The boy spun on his heel and stalked towards the stove, studying it with pursed lips. He seemed to recall something from one of his Muggle Studies texts that said something about these contraptions. They weren't very different from ones in the Wizarding world, but they ran electrically or something...

Ron, meanwhile, spun around at once and looked guiltily at the now sniffling toddler. "Harry," he tried to explain, gesturing irritably at Draco, "that's _Malfoy_. Stay away from him. He's been a git to you for years now. You hate him, and he hates you."

If Draco weren't high class, he may have slammed his head on the wall after hearing this comment for two reasons. Not only were these words nearly verbatim what he had been thinking earlier, Harry wasn't supposed to know about magic. Just how was Weasel planning to explain how he and Harry had known one another for "years" when Harry didn't recognize a single one of them? Could he truly be this simpleminded or was he just that stubborn?

He strode forward, brushing past Ron and knelt before the boy, immediately garnering his attention. "Ron here likes me about as much as I like him, so we argue," he explained, tone surprisingly soothing. "It's alright, Harry."

Harry looked him in the eye with astonishing understanding and intelligence, considering his age. Draco wondered if he'd been this way when naturally three or four, but would've cut out his tongue before asking the _real_ Potter. "He said I was weak!" Harry declared hotly. "I'm not weak!"

"No, you most certainly aren't." Draco agreed, unbidden flashes of things he'd seen Harry do or at least heard about doing over the years. Harry grinned suddenly and embraced Draco, skinny arms wrapping tightly around his neck. As with the hug for his leg, Draco froze and waited for Harry to release him. As it soon became apparent that the child had no intention of doing so, Draco awkwardly returned the embrace. Tiny lips curved against his shirt.

Ron was now so red, his skin blended in with his hair. Harry was _his_ best friend, after all, and this git, who had made their lives miserable going on five years now, was hugging said best mate! Ron did the reasonable thing and tore Harry from Draco. "Harry! The Mighty Ferret, here, hates you and me! Stay away from him!" Draco glared and Harry wriggled away and defiantly reattached himself to Malfoy.

"Now see here, Weasel-bee," Draco began in a chilling tone, but was suddenly interrupted.

"Don't insult my Draco!" All eyes in the room went to Harry. Blaise raised an eyebrow as he turned his gaze to Draco, who looked shocked a moment before composing himself once more.

"Yes, well. Obviously Harry doesn't hate me, Weasel. Now if you'll excuse us..." Draco rose and, since Harry had banded his arms around Draco's neck once again, the blonde was now carrying the toddler. Nose in the air, he pushed past the red-faced, seething teen and took Harry upstairs after a quick trip to the living room to get one of the provided Muggle board games as he went.

"So I can just make this checker piece go here," Draco said pushing the checker piece directly forward, earning a giggle from his opponent. _At least I'm passing as funny, instead of ignorant,_ Draco thought with some relief. The pair was sitting cross-legged on the hardwood floor in Draco's room, bent over a Muggle checkers board.

"No, Draco! You're silly. You move it dia... dia... that way!" Harry took this chance to seize Draco's hand and push it diagonally across the board. A small smile softened Draco's pointed features as the little boy patiently explained the game to him for a third time.

"Well, Harry, maybe I could just- Oh, look! Is that a gigantic... er... hippogriff?" Draco said dramatically, pointing in the opposite direction. Harry spun around in search of the imaginary hippogriff - not entirely sure what that even was - and Draco quickly leaned forward and grabbed a few of Harry's checker pieces. He was a Slytherin, after all.

"Draco! There's no hypgrit! I dunno what that- Hey! Where'd my pieces go?" Harry looked on either side of him on the floor, got on all fours to crawl under the bed, and was searching his clothing before he heard Draco laughing.

He looked at the blonde suspiciously. "Did you take my checker pieces, Draco?"

Draco attempted to shake his head "no," somberly while still chuckling. Harry marched over to him, overbalancing and tumbling into his lap. Quickly righting himself, he began exploring Draco's suit jacket pockets. When he found nothing, he seized Draco's enclosed hand and tried to pry it open. Laughing again, unable to hold it back, Draco raised his arm into the air, out of Harry's reach. The child stood up and tried to get to the elevated hand to no avail.

"I figured out how to make the soup," came Blaise's voice from the doorway. He was leaning on the paneling with his arms crossed over his chest, looking slightly amused and triumphant. There were dark blotches of grease on his shirt.

Harry, taking advantage of Draco's sudden distraction, seized hold of Draco's lowered hand, grabbed the checker pieces and beamed up at the two teenagers. "I win!" he announced and darted from the room toward the kitchen.

"He seems to like you," Blaise commented, featured schooling into mild interest. "Why is that?"  
>"It's my fantastic people skills, Blaise," Draco evaded, getting to his feet and brushing at his pants.<p>

Blaise was not phased. "_You_ seem to like him. Why is _that?_"

Draco glared at his friend and pushed his way through the door and past the boy. "How is it that you're so talented with Muggle objects, Blaise?"

Blaise's slight quirk of lips was less than amused. "Answer my question, and perhaps I'll answer yours."

Rather than reply, Draco disappeared down the stairs.

Roughly half an hour later, Harry emerged from the kitchen with many blotches of grease on his shirt, identical to the grease spots on Zabini's shirt (though Blaise had very quickly changed out of the offending garment). The three teenagers were at loss of what to do with the toddler now, not a one of them used to dealing with small children. Draco and Blaise were both only children and the only Weasley younger than Ron was Ginny, and she was only behind him a year.

Luckily, Harry seemed to decide this for them as he spotted a television set in the corner of the living room. Squealing in surprised delight, the boy rushed towards the electronic device and scoured the surrounding area for any video cassettes. In tandem for once, united by their bafflement, Ron, Draco, and Blaise walked towards the boy when he beckoned them over after finding an assortment of VHS tapes. Harry chose a particularly colourful looking boxed tape and held it out to Draco, who took it and read _The Lion King_, featuring several animated lions and a baboon.

"Er... Harry? Is this one of those Muggle pictures?" Ron inquired as he took the VCR from Draco.

"It's a movie, Weasel!" Harry answered brightly.

Ron scowled at the use of the offensive nickname, but it's not as though Harry knew any better. He scanned the label on the package, clueless. "I don't think this... er... movie is for kids."

At this, Blaise snatched the movie from his hand and read it. "It's a Muggle cartoon, Weasley. It's obviously a kid's movie," Blaise contradicted him. He opened the box to reveal a black tape with clear white wording on the front and plucked it from the case before searching for a way to insert the cassette into the big screened thing.

Between finding the player, figuring out how the colored cords connected to the television, and deciphering the many buttons on both TV and VCR, the task took nearly an hour.

Harry had run outside to chase a "pretty birdie" with Draco running after him since he seemed to know the absolute least about Muggle gadgets. Harry also decided to dig an earthworm out of of its rightful home, despite Draco's objections. Excited somersaults were next and Harry absolutely beamed when Draco applauded his efforts and gave a cheer of his own when Draco surprised him with a cartwheel (after making absolutely sure that neither Weasley nor Blaise could possibly catch him in the act).

Harry also seemed thrilled by the concept of tag until he realized how silly it was with just two people. Hide-and-go-seek was demanded and, after explaining the rules to Draco, the blonde acquiesced because it seemed like a very simple game. After having to climb a _tree _to get Harry down and having to climb _under the house _to get him, Draco thought otherwise.

By the time Ron's "Ferret! Harry! Zabini and I got the muggle-what's-it-called working!" was shouted, Draco was exhausted and the boy was absolutely filthy. Harry peeked his head around a nearby tree that was his hiding spot (a different one than the one he'd climbed) and was swept up much to his surprise by Draco, who had come around from behind.

Seconds later, Blaise and Ron were startled by the front door being slammed open and Draco entering the room carrying Harry sideways. Ron's eye's narrowed at what he considered to be rough treatment, but he could not complain. Harry's wide smile was enough to convince anyone that Draco was not hurting him at all. Blaise, however, gave Draco a pointed look and explained very firmly that neither of them were allowed to sit on the couch in their disgusting state before turning back towards the television set and pressing _play. _

A sun rose on the screen, animals migrating across and music began to play that made them all wonder if they were watching an English movie...

_Nants ingonyama bagithi Baba,_

_Sithi uhm ingonyama,_

_Nants ingonyama bagithi baba,_

_Sithi uhhmm ingonyama,_

_Ingonyama,_

_Siyo Nqoba, _

_Ingonyama,_

_Ingonyama nengw' enamabala_

Harry cheered along with the animals as the lion cub was held up by the baboon. Ron, Draco, and Blaise were confused already, but relieved to discover that only the odd music was foreign. Blaise watched only a few minutes before rising and walking out. Ron stayed stubbornly on the couch, partially out of curiosity of the Muggle film, and partially to make sure that Draco didn't do anything to Harry.

Draco, though, was absorbed by the child and hardly watched the screen. It was absolutely fascinating to watch Harry react to each atmosphere change in the movie. At one point, a lion called Scar was discussing his plan to kill the the lion cub, who was revealed to be Simba, and his father, Mufasa.

When the plan came to fruition and Simba was begging his father to get up, Harry, lip quivering and eyes watery, crawled into Draco's lap. Expression going soft, Draco tucked his arms around little Harry until he was giggling at the silly warthog and his meercat friend. He didn't notice Ron's gaping anymore than he noticed Blaise's cautious look when he walked back into the room.

As the movie proceeded, however, Harry's eyelids became heavier and heavier. He turned in Draco's lap, head dropping onto the Slytherin's chest, little fingers clinging to his shirt.

Draco panicked internally, the only sign of it was in his widening eyes. He was never supposed to be very good caring for children... Was he going to be forced to sit here until morning with Harry on his lap? What if became his normal age and found himself in this... position? What if one of the professors came in and _saw him like this_?

Blaise spoke up, voice pitched just above cloud-Mufasa telling Simba to remember. "Take him upstairs and put him to bed. He probably won't remember a thing in the morning if he's back to normal, and Weasley here probably won't tell Potter that he cozied up to you." The humiliation would be on all their heads if he did and Blaise was fairly certain that Weasley had enough tact to avoid that, at least.

Draco nodded and waited a few minutes to make sure that Harry was completely asleep before standing up. He carefully carried Harry up the stairs, debated on whether or not the boy should get a bath. But to be perfectly honest, the child looked too sweet and too innocent when he slept. Draco couldn't bear to awaken him, so walked into Harry's room and place him on the bed.

Just as was about to exit the room, Draco looked back at the boy. He cursed himself inwardly, but walked back towards the bed. He removed the toddler's shoes, socks, jacket, and glasses very carefully, managing not to wake him. Draco stepped backwards, looked towards the door before placing an impulsive kiss on the top of the child's head. Harry's eyes fluttered open briefly, though Draco didn't notice. He had already rushed from the room, cheeks pink.


	4. Evaluation

**Hey... what do you know? Beta deserves ultimate credit... StarShineDC, she has lovely stories. Second, I'm going out of town for a few weeks with no wifi. I'll write more chapters of **_**Muggle Week**_ **soon as the internet allows.**

The peaceful morning was disturbed by a sharp, insistent rapping. Draco tried to ignore the sound, telling himself it was probably just an owl. Someone else would get it when they got irritated enough, or perhaps the owl would just pass out or fly away. Irritated that his slumber had been impeded, Draco rolled over and buried his face in his pillow.

Unfortunately, the tapping did not stop. In fact, it gradually grew louder. _Impatient owl,_ Draco thought as he finally, but reluctantly, heaved himself out of the bed. Someone was going to pay for this; his sleep was a vital part of his life and the fact that anyone would have the _nerve_ to cut it short was unforgivable. He walked sluggishly to the window and stood by it for a few moments, trying to figure out why he was still hearing the raps but seeing no winged, letter-bearing creature.

Draco swore silently as he realized that the annoying tapping sound was actually someone, most likely a professor, knocking on the front door. Suddenly very much awake, he dashed down the stairs, throwing on proper robes as an afterthought; god forbid a professor see him in _pajamas_. But it was thrown on as he went because, if there was one thing Draco had learned in his five years at Hogwarts, it was that his professors did not take kindly to waiting, which is exactly what the four boys had done.

Breathless, Draco took a moment to set himself to rights before pulling open the front door to reveal a cross Professor McGonagall, who immediately swept forward into the house, her dark green witch hat being knocked off her head promptly by the low ceiling. Draco picked it up, unwilling to agitate his professor any further.

"Ten points from Slytherin and Gryffindor, I think. The lot of you should've been up at least an hour ago. This isn't a vacation, Mr. Malfoy." Her tone was as stern and as unyielding as the gaze she took around the small house as she strode down the entryway.

"I believe it was Mr. Potter who drank the potion last night?" she continued, stony gaze flicking to Draco. He immediately nodded his confirmation, hiding his distaste with sheer will. Of course it would be Gryffindor's Head of House... Then again, seeing how the Golden Boy and his best friend were in his group, Draco thought he had a pretty fair shot of passing. He tried not to fidget at the small voice in his head told him that he'd taken such good care of Potter that there was no way he'd fail, anyway.

"I will need to see Mr. Potter now for your grade evaluation," Professor McGonagall was saying as she perched on a chair in the living room. "Kindly fetch the boy and the other students." Draco nodded again before proceeding up the stairs, this time peppering his strides with the careful poise and grace that Malfoys were always supposed to have.

After dressing quickly into black dress pants and a blue button down shirt, Draco decided to have his fun in waking the others, beginning with Blaise. However, as he pushed the door open and took a step inside the room, he realized that the Slytherin was not in his bed. "Good morning, Draco. Get out of my room," came a cool voice from a chair on the opposite side of the room.

Draco looked at his fellow Slytherin apprehensively when he caught sight of him, seated regally on a chair that had been facing the window a moment before. "How long have you been up?" Draco demanded, hardly able to keep the accusation from his tone as he took in the boy's crisp suit, shiny shoes, and steaming cup of what spelled suspiciously like coffee. Where had Blaise gotten coffee?

Sipping his drink, Blaise responded smoothly, "Longer than you have."

Draco had already guessed this much and his unappreciation at the insulting answer was clear in his expression. "Why didn't you answer the door? McGonagall was irate when I got down the stairs." Draco glared. Blaise didn't respond, but simply took another sip of coffee, raised an eyebrow, and smirked. Draco only sighed. Typical Blaise.

"Fine, fine. I'm leaving, but McGonagall wants us all downstairs. I recommend leaving your coffee up here, too." Angling his head in a way that showed that he was still the superior Slytherin in this house, Draco bid Blaise farewell and crossed to the opposite side of the hall, where Ron was definitely still asleep, his snoring loud enough to be heard halfway down the hall.

Now standing in front of Ron's bed, Draco pursed his lips and contemplated his options. Blaise had ruined his plots by already being awake and, in hindsight, Blaise's retaliation would've been ten times worse. Ron, however, was a Gryffindor. He had none of the cunning required for a decent counterattack. The snoring redhead - and that infernal noise would have to stop - was sprawled sideways across the bed on his stomach, completely entwined in sheets.

Draco figured that he could simply punch him, though that was a little crass. He studied his palm, considered the satisfying sound it would make versus the pain meeting that thick Weasley skull would probably cause his fist. No, then. Not worth it.

Draco could also shake him awake to tell him that Professor Snape was downstairs. That would frighten the boy into something embarrassing, Draco mused, but if no one was around to really see it, it would be a waste. Also, the thought of touching the snoring beast had Draco's lips curling into a sneer.

Then he spotted a glass of drinking water on the beside table. Mind made, a slow smile replacing the sneer, he swiftly moved towards the glass, picked it up, and upturned it over the sleeping Gryffindor. The classics were, occasionally, so very satisfying.

Ron shot up from the bed with difficulty - tangled in the sheets as he was - and spluttered something about spiders attempting to drown him before catching sight of the blonde. Draco was now smirking with amusement. He bowed and effectively cut off whatever blabbering Weasley was sure to manage upon being awakened. "One of our esteemed Professors arrived a few minutes ago," he explained, leaving out who it was on purpose. "We are, of course, expected downstairs immediately. And you should probably do something about your hair, Weasel. The color's offensive enough, but now it's dripping all over everything." He swept out as though he didn't care in the least about the sound of Ron gnashing his teeth and found himself in Harry's room.

The child was curled up in a ball with his thumb in his mouth. Draco's smirk disappeared and was replaced with a small smile as his eyes landed upon the toddler again. He reluctantly placed his hand on the small boy's shoulder and shook, expecting Harry to awake easily. Instead, Harry grabbed the hand from his shoulder, still asleep, held it to his chest like a teddy bear, and rolled over. Hand now stuck, Draco attempted to do the same with the other hand with the same result. Draco was at loss of what to do, so he tried to simply remove his hands from the surprisingly tight clutches of the sleeping boy.

Entirely unsuccessful, Draco switched tactics and tickled the boy. At this, Harry's eyes snapped open and he giggled a bit, though he did not release Draco's hands. Curiously, Draco tickled the boy again and gave a laugh of his own as Harry squealed and rolled over on his back, dropping the Slytherin's hands and pulling his legs up for protection.

Refraining from ticking Harry some more, mindful of the professor awaiting them downstairs, Draco scooped the boy up into his arms and told him, "A teacher from my school is checking up on us, Harry. She'd like to meet you, too." Harry nodded into Draco's chest as he settled down, wrapping his arms around the Slytherin's neck, and burying his little face into his shirt. Draco hesitantly patted the boy's back, unable to quell the affectionate smile.

When the two arrived in the living room, Blaise and Ron were sitting silently on far, opposing sides of the sofa and Professor McGonagall was looking at the soaked Gryffindor and the "just woken up, yet fully dressed and awake" Slytherin with raised eyebrows. McGonagall quickly turned her gaze to the toddler in Draco's arms when Draco's cleared throat announced their presence. Harry, in question, sat up in Draco's arms and stared blatantly at the woman's hat. "I like your hat," he said interestedly. "It kinda reminds me of a movie I once saw..." Harry's little lips pursed as he tried to remember the name of the movie.

McGonagall laughed lightly, a strange sound to the boys who were their normal age. "I heard you're name is Harry?" Harry nodded, a bright smile adorning his features. The professor returned the smile easily and continued, "My name is Professor McGonagall. Can you say that, Harry?"

Again, the toddler nodded. "McGona- McGona- McGonny?" Harry asked with wide eyes, giving up on pronouncing the name.

Professor McGonagall sighed, but let it be. She wasn't planning on being here for long, anyway. There were other houses to see to. "So, Harry, have you been happy here?"

Harry face, streaked with dirt that Draco now wished he'd thought to wash, glowed as he answered brightly. "_Really_ happy! Ron scared me a little bit when he was fighting with my Draco, though..." Ron reddened when Blaise and Draco glanced at him. Professor McGonagall raised her eyebrows when she heard the "my" in front of Draco's name, but listened as Harry continued. "Blaise is real smart. He figured out how to use a can opener on his own and how to make soup... He and Ron even hooked up the TV!" Blaise looked down quickly, evading the glance McGonagall sent his way. "I had fun with my Draco, too!" Harry went on, resting his head back against the boy in question. "We played tag - kinda - and hide 'n' go seek outside yesterday... We played checkers, but Draco cheated 'cause he was losing real bad. I like it here lots!" Harry finished and beamed up at Professor McGonagall.

The old witch nodded briefly. "And, tell me, Harry, what do you know about magic?"

The boy looked perplexed a moment. "Like... in the movies?" He smiled. "It's in lots of stories."

Professor McGonagall smiled and rose. "Very good. Thank you, Harry." She lifted her wand and waved it, a piece of paper appearing on the table. "Your next assignment," she explained, ignoring little Harry's gasp of awe. "Another professor will be by tomorrow." And with a small nod, Professor McGonagall Apparated to her next destination with a loud _crack_ that made Harry cover his ears.

Blaise immediately rose and disappeared up to his room and chilled coffee and Ron glowered at Draco before striding after him to dry himself off.

Harry quickly squirmed out of Draco's grasp and bounded to the note. "Was she magic, Drcao?" He picked up the little note and waved it as though it would reveal all its secrets that way. Draco lowered onto the sofa where Blaise had vacated, avoiding the wet spot where Ron had sat and held out his hand for the note.

Harry happily climbed onto his lap and offered the note. "Was she? Was she? Huhhuh?"

Draco offered a smile. "It certainly seemed that way," he evaded and read the note.

_Congratulations on successfully completing your first chore._

_I hope it has instilled some basic knowledge of the Muggle world as well as in child-rearing._

_Before you begin your second chore, you must give the child the antidote to the de-aging potion. _

_This potion is, again, located in the ice box. _

_Once you are all your proper age, your task is to complete various household and yard chores._

_Housework:_

_1. Dishes._

_2. Sweeping and mopping floors._

_3. Washing windows._

_4. Cleaning your rooms._

_5. Clean your washroom._

_Yardwork:_

_1. Rake the leaves._

_2. Trim the hedges._

_3. Paint the fence._

_4. Weed the garden._

_5. Mow the lawn. _

_Necessary tools are provided in the kitchen closet and the garden shed._

"What's it say, Draco?

"She says that you are a very sweet boy," Draco lied. He couldn't very well say to Harry that the note instructed him to take a potion to age the boy, now could he?

A faint frown appeared on Harry's face. "It looks like a lot more letters than that!" Harry commented, studying the note.

"Professor McGonagall likes elaborate wording," Draco stood up and began to walk to the refrigerator, brows drawing together as he thought. This seemed to be a ludicrous amount of _chores_ and he wasn't looking forward to it in the slightest.

Harry trotted alongside him. "What does 'elaborate' mean?"

"Detailed," Draco responded absently as he reached his destination. Yanking open the door, he peered inside, looking for the potions vial. He didn't exactly _want _the actual Harry back, but he also didn't want to deal with a child and try and leave so much work for Blaise and Ron to take care of. They would all fail for sure. He was also wary, based on little Harry's attachment of him, made the of how Harry would react after he took the antidote. Would he even remember what had occurred while a child? And, if he did, would he hold it over Draco's head? Draco was positive that, had the situation been reversed, Draco would hold it over Harry's.

Draco was frowning when he found the tiny vial filled with a blue, bubbly substance. "Whatcha find?" Draco put the smile back in place when a little tuft of black hair tried to wedge its way to the fridge. Draco nudged him back and Harry folded his arms, pouting up at the blonde.

"Yeah, Malfoy. What _did _you find?" came Ron's irritated voice from behind Harry. Looking up, Draco shoved the note at Ron. Ron hopped up to sit on the counter as he read, grimacing at the list of chores but glad that he was going to have his best mate back.

Harry looked between the two boys, unused to them not fighting. "So watchu find, Draco?" he asked again.

"Oh, the only thing I found was a drink I tried at school once. It was fantastic!" It was, from Draco's limited experience with small children (i.e. books and the occasional play), probably going to be hard getting Harry to drink the potion without lying somehow. Ron snorted, unimpressed by Draco's attempts.

Harry didn't catch the lie, however, and he eagerly asked, "Can I try some?"

The blonde acted as if he was considering the question carefully. Only when Harry asked again did he shrug. "I suppose if you really want to."

"I really want to!"

So Draco removed the cork stopper and smirked at Ron when Harry grabbed the vial with both of his hands and drank it quickly. Harry wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"It tastes like blueberries!" the little boy commented happily with a smile that disappeared within second. The vial smashed on the floor as Harry dropped it and staggered backwards slightly, all the child-like bliss gone from his face. Draco and Ron both moved forward quickly out of concern that he would fall, but it wasn't necessary. Harry's features quickly morphed from those of a three or four year old boy to those of a fifteen year old.

Draco immediately retracted his steps when Harry Potter at his natural age stood before the two, blinking in confusion. The Slyherin paused and spun on his heel, stalking out of the kitchen and tried not to let his disappointment show. How odd to suddenly realize that he'd _wanted_ Harry to remember. He didn't notice Harry staring after him.

Ron broke into a grin, oblivious to both of them, and slapped Harry on the back with a happy welcome back to normality. He went into the explanations of what had occurred (barring his attachment to Draco) without bothering to ask if Harry remembered anything about being a toddler. He, like Draco, assumed from the confused look he'd worn when first transformed back that he was clueless.

Both blokes were very much mistaken, but Harry didn't want to admit to anything, not until he actually knew why it had happened. He let Ron chatter on about the previous day, largely ignoring him and retreated to his own thoughts, contemplating Draco's behavior from the past day. He was also considering his own behavior. He'd been so... drawn to Draco. Because he'd seemed the safest of the three at first, but even after that had settled, Draco had still seemed the best choice. And he'd been ridiculously nice.

Harry thought of playing around outside and scrubbed a hand over his dirty cheek. Draco had done a cartwheel. The oh, so perfect and prim _Malfoy_ had done cartwheels, played games with him, and had climbed a tree to get him out of it. He'd tried opening a can of soup for him and had smiled so much...

"...Then McGonagall left this note on the table," Ron was saying. "See, Harry?" The brunette was brought back to earth when Ron repeated his name and forced a piece of parchment into his hand. Looking down, Harry saw the instructions for the day and gladly seized them as a distraction. He stood, Ron stopping midsentence when Harry simply walked out of the room towards the front door.

Realizing what Harry was doing, Ron quickly followed him out the door while yelling to the other occupants in the house, "Get yourselves down here! Harry and I are _not_ cleaning this house on our own!" Harry decided to take it as a good sign that he hadn't used the word "arses" to call them.

Blaise and Draco appeared on the doorstep minutes later, still dressed in the expensive looking dress pants and shirts. Ron and Harry, both dressed comfortably in jeans, exchanged looks and smirks, but made no comment.

Smiling mischievously, Harry handed a pair of hedge shears from the from a small garden shed to Blaise, who began to eye it with an appraising stare. Harry tried not to regret that fact that he'd just given Blaise Zabini giant, sharp scissors. Ron dove inside the shed and pulled out a rake. Harry averted the Slytherin's gaze as he handed a trowel to Malfoy, not realizing that Draco was also not looking his way, before going back into the shed to find something for his own task. There were only a few things remaining in the shed... Another trowel, several flowers, two buckets of white paint, and four paint brushes. A short note was attached to the first jar of paint, which Harry read with some distaste.

_All occupants of the home are required to participate in painting the fence._

Harry looked around the confined space, searching for another tool that he must have missed. Surely he was not expected to work with Dra... with Malfoy, of all people?

Unfortunately, that was exactly what Harry was expected to do. Sighing, Harry picked up the trowel and a crate of flowers before exiting the shack. Harry placed the flower crate by Draco and sat on the ground near where he was standing.

Draco was too busy fretting over the state of his appearance to notice Harry right away. He would sit down briefly, only to stand back up and brush offending dirt from his trousers. He was contemplating rolling up his sleeves, but his cufflinks were so pretty today and designed to be shown off. Blaise was having a similar problem as he trimmed the hedges; the boy was beginning to sweat, which was utterly ruining his pressed suit. He had shed his jacket, only to put it back on when the sweat became visible on his once crisp green button down. Ron watched his progress with laughter as he slowly raked the yard.

Harry watched Draco, who had still not given up on his battle to remain clean, out of the corner of his eye as he lazily dug small holes into the ground. How could the boy that Harry was staring at now and the boy from yesterday possibly be the same person? The boy he was staring at now looked and acted like same one that had tormented Harry for five years... But, then again, the boy who had kissed his forehead yesterday after putting him to bed looked the same and had the same dry, sarcastic personality that Malfoy had always had.

Harry rubbed his forehead where Dra- _Malfoy_ had kissed, had to shake his head at Ron's pointed look. _No, it's not my scar_ was the silent message. Ron nodded, going back to work, and Harry turned his attention back to Draco. Maybe... Maybe it _was_ the same person. Maybe... maybe the boy whom Harry knew and despised for five years was not actually a terrible person. It was a scary thought, really, but he couldn't deny how kind Malfoy had been to him the day before.

The single, forced kiss they'd shared came into his mind, unbidden, when Draco's lips parted to let a sigh slip through, and Harry surged to his feet. "Do you want to borrow a jeans and a shirt?"

Draco was surprised by the offer, the expression quickly masked by a scowl. He had yet to plant a flower due to his distress (his outfit was being ruined and Harry was _staring _at him) and he really didn't own anything more casual than what he currently had on. He'd just been contemplating whether or not to just fail in lieu of ruining his clothing when Harry had spoken.

"Do you want to or not?" Harry asked again and Draco nodded. The bespectacled boy spun on his heel and strode inside, intending for the other boy to follow.

Minutes later, Harry quietly handed Draco a folded pair of faded jeans and a cheap red and gold t-shirt, deliberately choosing Gryffindor colors. Draco winced at the obvious choice, but mumbled a "Thanks, Potter" and accepted the clothing.

They stood in silence awkwardly for several moments before Harry spoke. "So, what's different about today, Malfoy? You're not acting like an intolerable sod." Harry wondered at what answer he would receive and leaned against a wooden bed post, watching Draco closely.

Draco flushed slightly, but glared. Harry obviously didn't remember the previous day's events and Draco decided that perhaps he should just forget them as well. "I'll have you know that I am never an intolerable sod," he declared indignantly.

Harry lifted an eyebrow. "Of course not, what was I thinking? I'm going back outside," he muttered, striding towards the door. And then he stopped in the doorway and looked back because he was a _Gryffindor_ and he wasn't going to just let this pass. "Oh, I think I forgot to mention: you're good with kids."

Draco went visibly still. "I had nothing to do with you yesterday. Weasley will second that notion, if you don't believe me."

Harry turned around and walked back to Draco, not willing to tolerate a flat lie like that. It was insulting to them both. "That's a lie, though, isn't it?" he accused and was met with silence.

_Damn_, thought Draco. _Damn, damn, damn. _But Harry wasn't looking away from him and he was backing up either. Draco could've backed away, but Malfoy pride burned in him and kept him in place. "I didn't want to fail my courses," he eventually spat.

Harry's mouth quirked and Draco cursed his eyes for being drawn by the motion. "Give it up, Draco. I remember everything," came Harry's light response.

Draco's mouth went dry (_He called me _Draco) and he began to storm out of the room, but was stopped by an unexpected arm blocking his path. "I remember everything," Harry repeated, his eyes determined and lit with something Draco didn't recognize. And it was startling to be so close to him and realize that he still had to look down. Harry was a few inches shorter than he was and, well, for the large presence the Golden Boy seemed to exude, it was a little a surprising.

Though not half as surprising as what followed. "Even this," the brunette said quietly and lifted slightly to press warm, gentle lips to the Slytherin's brow. "It was fun watching you outside... today and yesterday." And then he disappeared so quickly, Draco wondered if he'd used magic. And then, left standing in the middle of the empty room holding a pair of ratty jeans and a t-shirt, Draco lifted quivering fingers to where Harry's lips had been.


	5. Chores will be the End

**I know it's been a while, but here is this chapter! Again, thanks to StarShineDC, whose story that she is currently working on, Scorpius's Request... I just re-read it, and I can tell you right now that it's fantastic. I'm already working on the next chapter, so... I hope you enjoy it!**

Draco stood absently in the center of the room for five minutes after Harry had left, fingers still dancing without a set purpose where Harry's lips had made contact.

Then the infamous Malfoy manner which Lucius had installed in his son since the day he had turned three years old kicked in, forcing Draco into a sudden sense of sharp indignation of being touched in any form by a half-blood. He quickly drew his fingers from his brow and stuffed them into his suit jacket pocket, curling his hand into a fist. The offensive t-shirt and baggy jeans that he had been holding in his other hand were almost immediately shoved away and dumped unceremoniously on the bed. Glaring at the clothes suspiciously, he began to edge quickly out of the room.

However, before he had reached the door, Draco became aware of the uncomfortable realization that he was wearing clothes that were stiff and sticky from the sweat drying on his skin. Draco froze in his tracks before slowly turning on his heel and resuming the beloved task of glaring at the Muggle clothing.

Five more minutes passed, and Draco heard a muffled shout from outside.

"No, Ron! Don't jump in the-! Aw, Ron! Jumping in the leaves is just a unproductive Muggle children habit... It's not actually part of the raking leaves process." Draco broke his disapproving stare to glance through the nearby window. Ron was emerging from the previously neat pile of leaves, twigs and leaves sticking in awkward angles from his ratty clothing and ginger hair. He gestured wildly and said something that Draco could not hear.

Blaise, oddly, was laughing. The Slytherin was not chuckling quietly to himself, nor was he smirking with sarcastic mirth. This was completely out of character for the boy and Draco raised a pale eyebrow. Ron and Harry seemed to find this rare occurrence just as strange and were staring at Blaise as well. But as quickly as he had started laughing, he stopped... mainly because he had noticed the other boys' eyes on him.

Quickly regaining his composure, Blaise shrugged his suit jacket off again and turned back to perfecting the already neat-looking hedges. Harry and Ron simply shrugged and turned back to their individual chores; Ron was re-raking the lawn and Harry was now weeding the flower bed. Blaise turned around again and scoured his surroundings, having felt a last pair of eyes boring into him. He spotted Draco in the window and narrowed his eyes. Draco's eyebrow rose further. Blaise scowled and began to rather angrily prune the hedges again.

The blonde Slytherin chuckled to himself as he returned his gaze to the clothing, which lay wrinkled on the bed. Any signs of amusement vanished at once; Draco now remembered that the clothes were necessary to save his suit... He would have to wear them, despite the fact that they belonged to the boy who was capable of causing him to act like some other than the refined, civilized pure-blood that he was raised to be and made all composure Draco had disappear. Draco shook his head as this thought drifted through his mind. _No, _he corrected himself,_ I am reluctant to wear the awful clothing because it belongs to a half-blood who happens to be the Boy-Who-Refuses-to-Die._ Sighing, Draco snatched up the clothing.

Minutes later, Draco huffily stomped out of the house. A third reason of why he did not wish to wear the Muggle outfit had completely slipped his mind: the fact that it was, in fact, _Muggle_ attire. He looked common, for Merlin's sake! His pale hair was now loose and falling naturally into his face...

Seeing as Harry was smaller than him, Harry's shirt was a bit tighter than what he was used to, and so his hair had been ruffled in the process of yanking the unusual and horrendously coloured shirt on. So now, instead of his tailored suit, he wore a rather tight t-shirt and jeans, a material which he had never worn before. Draco had been shocked to find several holes at the knees of the jeans. He knew he looked like a Muggle-lover. Not only that... a _Gryffindor_ Muggle-lover. Unwilling to affiliate himself with the other two boys at the moment, Draco stormed towards Blaise, who had taken up Harry's job in the garden as all that was remained was mowing the lawn. One suspicious glance at the red Muggle machine had left Blaise entirely unwilling to even try.

Blaise, by this point, had left his jacket off and had unbuttoned the shirt, even going so far as to roll the sleeves up. Anyone who dared to comment on this traitorous exploit would have ended up on the receiving end of a fierce glare and a severe tongue lashing. Draco, however, was not a victim of a either at this particular moment. He and Blaise analyzed the other carefully, taking in one another's humiliating attire. Blaise nodded curtly, and Draco kneeled on the soil beside him and began to uproot pesky weeds from the garden, vowing by unspoken agreement to never speak of this again.

"Are you sure you belong in Slytherin, Blaise? Considering that rather raucous laughter at Weasel's antics." Draco decided to break the silence by "irritating" his companion.

Although, it didn't seem to work. Blaise didn't even look up. "More Slytherin than you, Draco." Blaise paused as he pulled an incredibly uncooperative root from the ground. He grimaced at it before tossing it aside. "I wasn't the one running around outside playing hide-and-seek with a toddler."

"I like children," Draco stated simply, all retorts forgotten.

Blaise smirked, sat up, and looked at Draco with an amused expression on his face. "You like children?" he repeated.

Draco's shoulders hunched defensively until he remembered that Malfyos weren't defensive about anything. "Yes," was his firm reply.

"What a lie. I think you forget that I was there when you had to watch over that Ministry official's six year old child when her father was meeting with ours." He paused again, looking knowingly down his nose at Draco.

Draco's cheeks flushed rather traitorously. He had hoped that Blaise had forgotten that particular incident. Blaise's dark eyes now twinkled with dry amusement, and he proceeded loudly, despite Draco's obvious humiliation, so that the two Gryffindors could hear. "Oh, how could you forget? I distinctly remember watching the girl's father tell you that all you needed to do was keep her entertained, feed her, and put her to bed. You managed to refuse to play - what was it? Dolls? - with her, sending the _poor_ child into a tantrum. She was yelling so loudly that all your house elves heard her and thought that she had been gravely injured.

"Also, you tried to feed a six year old escargot. Obviously, she refused and complained." Blaise paused, allowing himself a brief chuckle. Only Draco caught the dark edge in it. "I watched you dump the escargot on her head (very un-Slytherin, might I add) and give her a piece of plain bread.."

Draco finally gathered his senses and interrupted, "You didn't play with Creswell's daughter, either! It wasn't all my fault when he returned to find her locked alone in a spare room."

"Yes, it was. She had irritated you and kept following you out of the room whenever you left. So it was you who had locked the door... and who had begun to play music at a ridiculous volume so that you would not have to listen to her for another two hours."

Draco scowled. Cresswell had returned to find Draco sitting in the parlor listening to the Weird Sisters at top volume, rubbing his temples, and staring at a wizarding cross-word puzzle from the Daily Prophet. Blaise had been nowhere in sight, lurking in a chair in the corner of a nearby room. Pointing his wand at the old-fashioned record player, Cresswell silenced the music abruptly, causing Draco to glance up to find the middle-aged man glaring down at him.

"I suppose that racket wasn't supposed to help my daughter sleep. Where is she?" the man had asked.

Sighing in exasperation, Draco pointed down the hall. "Second door to the right. Merlin, she was awful," he replied, earning another glare from Cresswell before the older man strode to the door. He unlocked and opened it with a frown, only to find the little girl drawing pictures on the grey walls with black ink she had found in the drawer of the bedside table. She was covered in ink, as well. Bits and pieces of the escargot that Draco had childishly dumped on her remained on her clothing or tangled in her hair. Needless to say, Cresswell was not very happy with his child's treatment, resulting in a sizable decrease in Draco's weekly allowance of galleons as punishment from Draco's own father.

A sudden outburst of a roaring laughter startled Draco into spinning around. Ron and Harry had stopped their work and listened to Blaise and Malfoy's conversation and, it seemed, had found it ludicrously entertaining. "Shove off," Malfoy muttered as he began to pull the last remaining weeds.

Less than an hour later, the four boys found themselves standing in front of the fence, paintbrushes in hand. Harry and Ron began the work immediately, dipping their brushes into the white cans and going about their task in earnest.

Blaise and Draco, however, opted to stand arm's length away from the fence, reluctant to get any more dirty than necessary, despite the fact that they were both already covered in dirt and sweat.

"I bet Mum and McGonagall get along... Keep this up, and we're sure to get an O, unlike the Ferret there and Zabini..." Ron muttered cheerfully to Harry, his voice rising slightly when he insulted the two Slytherins.

"Whether or not we receive top marks on this project is irrelevant, Weasel. At least we already know we have a promising career... Not to mention I would find it rather degrading if I did know how to carry out menial household tasks that my house-elves usually tend to." Draco scowled at the red-haired boy.

Harry paused, turned, and raised his paintbrush, which was dripping with white paint. With a trace of a smile on his face, Harry flicked the paintbrush four times. Twice in Draco's direction; twice in Blaise's direction. Both spluttered indignantly as the paint landed on their faces and quickly went about wiping the offending liquid away before it could do something as vile as _drying_ on their skin.

"Don't act like you're better than us," Harry ordered, a grin now spread across his face. Ron had doubled over with laughter at the sight of the other two boys' stunned faces. Harry dipped his paint brush in the paint can and flicked it again, this time in Ron's direction. "We have five more days together; don't make it difficult." Ron's laughter cut off immediately as the paint hit him, his face flushing a brilliant red. He began to mutter his defense, but Harry's grin only became wider and he clapped his best mate on the shoulder.

After a few seconds, Blaise drew his wand from the inside of his shirt sleeve and pointed it at Harry, forgetting they were not allowed to use magic. Jinxing was the only form of revenge the Slytherin could think of; Muggle fighting would be a disgrace, and yelling or insulting the boy was just juvenile. He usually wasn't hot tempered; that was one of Draco's many faults, in Blaise's mind.

What Blaise was, however, was incredibly arrogant and vain. It was only to be expected, if you look into his past. His mother was well-known for being exceedingly beautiful; as a result, she had been married seven times. Each of her husbands died mysteriously, leaving the woman a fortune richer with each funeral. With this upbringing, being his mother's darling, Blaise considered himself to be untouchable. He knew he was good-looking and thought himself to be superior, in both his blood status and his values. He would not allow anyone, including himself, to bring him down to the same level as everyone else. And this is precisely what Harry had done with that little stunt.

"_Incarcer-_"Blaise could not finish his spell, Ron tackling him and Draco seizing his wand. Blaise and Ron fell to the ground in a heap of tangled limbs, both emitting an annoyed grunt when they landed. Blaise curled his long fingers into Ron's sleeves to yank him away and Ron placed his palms flat on Blaise's chest to push up and off.

But the moment he realized he was touching bare skin, he froze and so did the Slytherin. He looked up sharply, the fury in his gaze melting into surprise. Ron opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

Draco twirled the wand between his fingers. "How brash, Blaise... You could have lost yourself the grade. As amusing as it would be to see Potter all tied up, I cannot say I would appreciate failing." With a smirk, Draco used his own dripping brush to streak Blaise with the white paint again. This very quickly broke the boy out of his daze and he quickly shoved Ron away. Blaise glared venomously, snatching his wand and stalking away and into the house. Draco chuckled slightly before turning back to the fence to complete his part of the menial task. Ron and Harry soon followed his lead, Harry still smiling in amusement and Ron looking rather perplexed, his gaze occasionally flicking to the door Blaise had stormed through.

Ron collapsed in a chair in the kitchen, eyes scouring the room for anything edible. He, along with Harry and Draco, had just finished the chores outside. Blaise hadn't returned to help, opting to clean his room instead. Harry entered the kitchen just behind Ron, promptly opening a cabinet door before slamming it shut again. This process repeated itself three times until he emerged from one cabinet with a glass jar full of salsa and a bag of tortilla chips. Vaguely, he toyed with the idea of organizing the cabinets better, but was too exhausted for the moment. He plopped down in the chair next to Ron and offered the bag of chips. Ron eyed the salsa suspiciously, but ate it anyway once Harry dug in.

Draco appeared at the doorway minutes later, clutching a piece of parchment as he muttered angrily to himself. "Potter, Weasel... Blaise most likely won't choose to assist in anything else for the rest of the day. He's too angry at Potter and I, it seems, and we have the rest of _these_ to complete." He waved the hand clutching the parchment above his hand. "We've yet to do the dishes, sweep and mop, wash windows, clean the bedrooms, and washroom. Everything indoors, actually. This is awful! Worse than the worst detention!" He began muttering to himself angrily again, now eying the dishes in the sink. He glared at the bowl Harry and Ron were using for their salsa with such open irritation that Harry snorted.

"Hardly, Draco. That machine there is a dishwasher." Harry pointed. "It does the dishes for us. Bedrooms will take maybe ten minutes at most, considering we've only been here two days. Unless your multiple hair products spilled... That's a nightmare to think about." Harry looked pointedly at Draco, who was scowling. Ron, though, stared blankly at his friend; he had never heard the boy reference the Slytherin as Draco except during the whole toddler thing. What was that about?

Harry faked a shudder before continuing. "The upstairs is carpeted, so we don't have to sweep or mop up there. So, all in all, it's about a two hour job." Harry stood up and shoved the chips into the cabinet, setting the nearly empty salsa bowl in the sink. He turned to Ron. "Is your room... like it is at the Burrow?"

"A hurricane victim? Yeah..." Ron grinned sheepishly. His room at the Burrow was easily the messiest one there. Books and the clothes scattered the floor. The posters were torn on his wall. His bed was always unmade, and somehow bits of food always managed to find their way onto his floor. Despite Mrs. Weasley's constant nagging and spellwork to clean, the room would always find a way to reappear the next day as cluttered and messy as it was previously. Ron's bunk at Hogwarts wasn't much better. He had a rather bad habit of picking something up, getting bored quickly, and setting it aside to grab the next thing.

"You should probably go work on that, Ron. My room is already cleaned, considering how I didn't necessarily use any of my things the other day. Then we can get started on the floors or windows... When you're though, maybe you could bang on Zabini's door and get him to do something productive."

Ron nodded, and walked off to battle his room, sending a glare Draco's way as he passed. Draco replied with a sneer, looking over only when Harry spoke again. "Draco, I'm assuming your room is clean?"

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Malfoys aren't messy, Potter."

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Malfoys are people, whether you believe it or not. And I was 'Harry' yesterday, yeah?"

Draco's eyebrow remained raised as he looked at the other boy. "_Potter_, Malfoys are pure-bloods. We hold a higher status than others and are thus able to conquer certain... faults."

Harry began to load dishes stiffly into the dishwasher machine, anger radiating off his being. "What faults have you beaten?" he wanted to know. "The only thing you and other pure-bloods like your dear old daddy have been able to impress on other people is that you're arrogant, vain prats who would love to see the Muggles, Muggle-borns, half-bloods, and squibs bowing down at your feet, enslaved to your selfish will."

Draco flinched. "My 'dear old daddy,' as you put it, has taught me that our magic is better than... better than... wizards like you! Or that Mudblood friend of yours! And it's obvious that you are just as much of an arrogant prat as I appear to be, if you're so easily able to stereotype the wishes of all pure-bloods."

Harry paused, turned, and looked Draco in the eye. "I never understood what makes you think your magic is better than mine or Hermione's. She's a brilliant witch... Extraordinary, even. I don't see how you can override and undervalue her obvious talent just to make yourself feel better. Answer me that question, _Malfoy_. How are you better than a half-blood, Muggle-born, squib, or Muggle? Why do you act as if your life is more valuable than any of them just because you're pure-blood?" Harry asked defiantly, his green eyes steely as he shot these questions at Draco, who froze.

He didn't actually have an answer to this. All his life, being pure-blood _was_ the answer to why they were superior. Never before had anyone questioned why his bloodline made a difference; it had always just _been_.

After a silence that seemed to stretch for ages, Draco turned his gaze onto the floor. "I don't know why. And I never wanted slavery... _Harry_," Draco whispered. He didn't see the immediate smile that appeared on Harry's face. Hearing his name had acted as a sort of apology, in Harry's mind, and he found himself believing that Draco didn't want the worst for the people who were 'lower class' than himself.

"_Draco,_ could you help me finish loading the dishes?"

The boy in question lifted his gaze quickly and saw a surprisingly care-free twinkle in the Gryffindor's eyes. "What? The Boy-Who-Lived is incapable of doing the dishes?" Draco asked sarcastically as he began to put the last of the dishes in the Muggle machine.

Harry began to open cabinet doors and drawers, searching for a tablet to put in the dishwasher. "Nah, just unwilling to suffer this unjust fate alone... so you're going down with me," came the muffled response from the inside of a cabinet.

Draco sniffed, and tried not to be surprised that they were... joking around with one another. "Oh, _thanks._ What an honor this is."  
>"Shit... I can't find the tablets." Harry emerged from the cabinet, frowning. Draco frowned as well. He didn't know what that meant, but it didn't sound as if it meant that he would get kick back and relax. "It means we have to do the dishes by hand," Harry continued absently as he picked up a plate and walked to the sink. Underneath was a bottle of blue liquid a few small towels. "I'll wash them. Will you dry? Ron can start sweeping when he's done cleaning his room. He should be downstairs soon, judging by that banging from upstairs."<p>

Draco now realized he could hear Weasley's muted attempts at convincing Blaise to work. Nodding, Draco grabbed one of the clean dish towels from an open drawer and began to dry the first plate.

Before either of them could continue their conversation, or even think how to go about it, Ron materialized in the kitchen, followed by a clean, but reluctant Blaise. "Didn't give us all the supplies," Harry supplied at Ron's unspoken question. "Have to do the dishes by hand. Could you and Zabini start the floors and windows?" Harry answered Ron's unspoken question.

Blaise and Draco seemed to be having a silent conversation, complete with quirked brows and eyes rolls, until Ron waved his hand in front of Blaise's face. "Do you want to do the windows or floors?" he asked loudly. Blaise blinked and glowered instead of answering. "Specific, aren't you? I'll do windows," Ron decided, marching into the nearby closet and then marching right back out, bucket, rag, broom, and dustpan in his arms. "Here you go, Zabini." He shoved the broom and dustpan into the Slytherin's chest, and disappeared. Blaise glared at Draco one last time before he spun around and walked into the living room.

"He doesn't seem to be too happy with you," Harry snickered, passing a dripping bowl to Draco.

"Who? Blaise? He wouldn't be. I broke one of his rules," Draco replied easily as he dried.

Harry seemed confused. "Rules?"

Draco sighed. "That is one of the differences between Gryffindor and Slytherin, Harry. You Gryffindors seem to trust each other freely and become family. We Slytherins are friends, yes, but there are... restrictions. We tread lightly and trust no one. Also most Slytherins tend to have unspoken, personal rules that must be followed or we risk getting jinxed. It takes a bit of time to learn everyone's, but a clever Slytherin does well." Draco considered himself to be a very clever Slytherin. "You broke one of Blaise's before, so he tried to jinx you. He knows better now that I've broken one." Draco smirked at his good fortune.

Harry nodded. "What's one of your rules?" he asked curiously, not bothering to ask which of Blaise's he had broken.

Draco shifted uncomfortably, placing the bowl in a cabinet. "Er... Well, one of them is don't mess with anything that relates to my hair." Harry laughed, unsurprised, and was unfazed by Draco's withering glare. "Another is no... comments."

"Comments on what?" Harry asked, still laughing,

"Comments on his obsessions, his odd habits, or his sexual orientation," came Blaise's clear voice from the next room. Now he appeared in the door frame with a smirk, holding the broom.

Draco groaned slightly. "Low blow, Blaise. Though I suppose I should have seen that one coming." Draco frowned, cheeks tinged a light pink. He refused to look at Harry, who had stilled at Blaise's words.

"Perhaps," Blaise responded smoothly, watching warily as Draco set down a small plate and walked towards him.

The blonde held out a hand. "Are we even?" he asked evenly. Blaise nodded, smirk returning, and shook Draco's hand. "Nicely played," Draco said, turning back towards the sink. "Weasley got you out of your hole in record time. Wonder why that is," he commented slyly as he began to dry a fork.

"Same reason you like children," came Blaise's retort before he disappeared through the doorway to complete his sweeping. Draco frowned after him and didn't look at Harry as they continued to wash and dry the dishes in silence.

When Harry finally passed the last dish to Draco to be dried, he turned around and leaned against the counter, staring straight ahead. "You're gay?"

"Perhaps." He was bisexual. It had never been said aloud, nor had it ever left the Slytherin common room. Draco didn't have any problem with being bisexual; he had never been one to limit himself. His father, however, would not be happy if he chose another male. He looked at Harry, still staring ahead, and expected the worst. Perhaps the all holy Boy-Who-Lived was a homophobe.

"I don't mind that, you know. It's just that..." He was finally looking at Draco now, though he looked nervous. "That night at the party... when Fred and George shoved us in that God-forsaken closet... did you...?" He trailed off and Draco stared at him. What on earth was he going on about? Evidently, his confusion was apparent because Harry looked away again before continuing. "Enjoy it?"

Now Draco looked away. "No," he replied steadily.

Harry looked at him curiously. "Really? Not a bit."

"I didn't hate it, but I certainly didn't enjoy it," Draco lied.

"Did you know I was almost put in Slytherin? I am Gryffindor, through and through, but I have Slytherin traits. If I had a rule, it would be this: Don't lie to me," Harry said slowly before walking out of the room to help Ron finish the windows. Before he left, he called over is shoulder, "Sweep and mop the kitchen, will you?"

Draco sighed and grabbed a spare broom from the closet and began to sweep as he thought. Yes, he had enjoyed kissing Harry. Yes, he had kissed him a second time that night in the closet. No, he had never thought himself to be attracted to the Gryffindor. And yes, that is what he gathered Harry to suspect of him. No, he didn't know what he was going to do. Fantastic.

A few swept and mopped floors, several windows, and a cup of tea later, the four boys sat in the living room, debating on who was to complete the last chore. Harry raised both of leaned backward. "I'm not doing it. I already did a bunch of the jobs that you lot didn't know how to do." The other three nodded in reluctant agreement

"I vote Blaise," stated Draco. Looking pointedly at his fellow Slytherin, he laughed quietly. "After all, he did leave us earlier when we were working outside." Harry turned his gaze on Blaise thoughtfully before nodding. Ron followed his lead, nodding his agreement.

"Oh, I see. This is suddenly a democracy," Blaise commented dejectedly. "I see no reason why I should clean the washroom _alone_."

"I do. The room's tiny, Blaise. Do you really expect two people to be able to fit in there?" Draco scoffed, eyebrow raised.

Blaise's smile was imperceptible to anyone who hadn't known him long enough to read his expressions. "I'm sure we can find a way." Draco rolled his eyes. Blaise didn't want Harry or himself to help clean the washroom, Draco knew. No, Blaise wanted _Ron_ to help him to clean the washroom. The Weasel. Draco didn't know why Blaise wanted this... He always was incredibly difficult to please when it came to people, often sequestering himself in his room or in a darkened corner of the library to avoid anyone. Ron, by no means, reached his normal standards. He was a blood-traitor, for god's sake. As well as a Gryffindor. Two major strikes against him, considering Blaise's usual, extremely selective ways.

Draco shrugged. "You're not getting my help," he said without preamble before standing and exiting the room.

Harry stood as well, but he was nicer in his rejection. "I'm sorry, Zabini, but I'm done." He left, leaving only Blaise and Ron in the living room.

"Ronald Weasley. I know you'll help me." Blaise gave a tight smile.

Ron glared. "Why can't you clean it on your own, Zabini?"

"I'm lazy," was the surprisingly honest answer. It threw Ron off guard, so it took a moment to reply in a suitable fashion.

"Bugger off."

"Will you help me?"

"I'll clean the sink," he relented, looking away. Did Blaise know that he had gold flecks in those brown eyes of his? Not that they had any sort of swaying power on Ron. He'd never go for a Slytherin. His palms were oddly damp, though, so he wiped them on his jeans.

"Weasley..." Blaise touched the back of one his hands, stilling it immediately. He swallowed hard and his voice was tight when he replied.

"Fine."

Since Ron and Blaise had disappeared into the bathroom armed with a trash bag, a couple of spray bottle, and towels (paper as well as cloth), Harry had offered to cook the meal for group. Draco had offered, ignoring Harry's surprise, to set the table, which took a total of two minutes. Draco now perched quietly on the kitchen counter, watching Harry cook spaghetti.

"I was lying." Draco finally broke silence.

Harry didn't turn away from the pasta. "I know." He looked up. "It's hard to believe that you didn't enjoy yourself considering you kissed me a second time."

"You kissed back!" he defended himself quickly. Then he exhaled huffily. "Why does it matter to you anyway? It doesn't fit in with your schedule of acting like a cliched hero from one of those silly books in which the main character has a hero complex, marries the girl at the end, and leads a terribly happy life. Happily ever after and all that," he grumbled.

Harry shook his head, confused, and offered Draco a plate of spaghetti. He took it, sat down, and began to eat silently, feeling Harry's steady gaze on the back of his head. The feeling was rather similar to small child being reprimanded for a crime by his elder... which didn't make sense, considering he was older than Harry. And he had absolutely no reason to be scolded. He hadn't done a thing wrong. Still, though, Draco kept his back stiff and couldn't quite shake the feeling.

A rather grimy Ron and surprisingly clean Blaise entered the kitchen soon after, much to Draco's relief, and plopped into the other chairs around the table. Well, Ron plopped. Blaise perched.

"Great spaghetti, 'Arry. Not as good as mum's, 'course, but it's good," Ron said as he immediately began to dig into his own plate of food.

Blaise, on the other hand, cringed slightly as he ate the food. His brow furrowed as he contemplated how Ron considered the simple meal great. It tasted fine, surprisingly, but it was _just_ spaghetti. At his own home there were several courses nightly and many thing to choose from, just as there was at Hogwarts. Blaise had never before been faced with the idea of eating what was put in front of him and, really, this unique experience was anything but _great_.

"Er... Thanks, mate. Plenty of practice at the Dursley's, you know," Harry replied, cheeks tinged a light pink. This time it was Draco's brow that furrowed as he wondered why the boy would get plenty of practice doing a menial chore such as _cooking_ at his Muggle home. He knew he wasn't treated like royalty at his home, judging by the state of his clothing when he had first seen Harry at Diagon Alley when they were eleven. But the thought of someone as famous as Harry having to cook and possibly even clean and... Draco frowned and continued eating. Harry did know an awful lot about these things and had started the Muggle lawn mower thing with incredible ease, as if he'd done so many time before.

"Wonder what we're going to have to do tomorrow," Harry commented idly.

Ron swallowed a forkful of spaghetti. "If we're lucky, McGonagall will forget and let us have a free day," he said hopefully.

"Not happening, knowing her. She'll probably have us scrubbing the pavement or something tomorrow," Harry muttered.

Draco's head snapped up. "Don't even think about that!" he exclaimed, horrified by the very idea. Pulling up weeds had been bad enough, but... but scrubbing the _pavement_? Did Muggles _really_ do such a thing?

Blaise pushed his chair away from the table and stood. "As divine as this meal was," Blaise's amused gaze flickered to Ron, who ducked his head, "I'm going to my room to read." He put his plate in the sink and exited quickly, Ron's suspicious eyes on his back. Draco followed his fellow Slytherin's lead and retreated to his room. Ron picked up the remaining plates and began to wash them at top speed.

"Today wasn't awful, I suppose. Was it?" Ron asked, picking up a fork.

Harry began to dry the clean dishes as he reflected upon the events of the day. "No, I suppose it wasn't," he replied evenly after a thoughtful pause.

Another pause ensued; Ron handed Harry a plate. "Zabini wasn't as bad as I expected, either."

Not until Harry was drying the last dish and Ron was leaving the room, about to bid Harry goodnight, did Harry respond. "Neither was Malfoy, actually. G'night, Ron."

The red-haired Gryffindor frowned slightly as he considered, before he grinned at his best friend. Harry grinned back, then turned off the kitchen light and followed Ron out of the room, both heading to bed after a fairly exhausting day.


	6. Muggle Malls

"Whoa! Oh, shit! I need some help down here!" Ron yelled up the stairs as he frantically attempted to extinguish the growing flame over the stove. "All of you! _Any_ of you! I need some help!" he yelled again, making a dash towards the sink. "I'm not saying I need help because I want your company! Get _down _here!" he shouted, slapping on the water and filling a cup. Ron tossed the water over the open flame, dousing it somewhat.

Draco appeared in the kitchen, dressed happily in one of his suits. He was fiddling with the navy blue material of the sleeve, rather irritated. "Weasley, generally people don't disturb the peace at eight o'clock because they want help making- How did you manage to do that?" Draco asked upon catching sight of the flame.

"Don't just stand there, you git! Help me put it out!" Ron was dumping another glass of water over the flame. Draco surged forward to help - why the devil had he left upstairs? - and, moments later, the two were eying the burnt stovetop, surveying the damage.

"Do you think he'll notice?" Ron asked hopefully, forgetting for a moment that he was talking to the ferret.

"What on earth are you talking about, Weasley?" If Draco hadn't known better, he would have guessed that Ron had been put under the confundus charm. Even for Weasley, setting a fire and talking nonsense in one run was a bit extreme.

"Snape, of course!" Ron turned his gaze to Draco, evidently thinking he was stating the obvious. "An owl woke me up an hour ago with a message telling me that Snape would be dropping in at nine. I figured I'd let you lot sleep in a bit longer and came down to start breakfast." His face reddened. "Eggs, actually. And, well..." Ron gestured to the ruined stove. "Remind me never to actually cook breakfast again."

Draco didn't bother to suppress the chuckle. "Only you, Weasel, would manage to mangle our stove on your first attempt with it. To answer your previous question, though..." Now Draco peered at the burnt stovetop, lips pursing slightly. "Yes, I think he'll notice."

Ron groaned slightly, scrubbing a hand over his face. He was doomed. Why did it have to be Snape?

"Notice what?" Harry's voice now entered the conversation as the teen walked into the room and headed for the refrigerator. His hair looked particularly unkempt and there were dark circles under his eyes, as if he'd spent a particularly restless night.

"Weasley here set a fire when he tried to cook," Draco explained carelessly, waving a hand, and tried not to notice how tired Potter looked.

Ron glared at Draco, suddenly remembering that he didn't like the blonde. "Fire?" Harry asked, his eyes snapping up and locking on the other two boys. "And there wasn't a fire alarm or anything?" He looked surprised, though not at Ron's genius cooking skills.

Ron shook his head, gaze questioning as he replied. "Course not. Why would there be, mate? Muggles don't have magic to detect fires."

"They have smoke detectors, Ron. It sets off an alarm." Both Ron and Draco looked mildly impressed. Muggles, admittedly, found intriguing ways to get around their lack of magic. Not that Draco would ever say such a thing aloud.

"I'll assume that this house was originally built by wizards who intended to understand the Muggle way of life or some similar purpose." Blaise now entered the kitchen, looking more awake than any of them. He set an empty coffee mug on the counter and turned to face them. "The wizards who created this house most likely didn't know about these... smoke detectors or, if they did, probably figured that if there was a fire, we would use magic." He shrugged lightly. "Seems rather logical to me."

Ron didn't seem to have heard a word he said, looked back and forth from the telling mug to Blaise. "You were awake?" he demanded.

"I _am_ awake," Blaise corrected, a single brow cocked.

"But you- you- fire!" Ron spluttered, looking enraged.

Blaise smirked. "I hear Professor Snape is coming soon?"

Harry's head, which had sank into his arms as he sat at the table, shot up. "Snape? Snape? Why is the greasy bat coming instead of Professor McGonagall?"

"To knock off points from Gryffindor, and to make fun of you and Weasley," Blaise replied. His tone completely serious; his expression was amused. Draco chortled, Ron grinned, and Harry dropped his chin to the table.

"Sounds about accurate, mate," Ron commented, letting out a laugh.

Draco quickly glanced at Blaise, who was now smirking outright. 'Mate,' Draco silently repeated. Ron had called Blaise 'mate.' Impressive, really. Though Blaise had always been one to work fast when he decided he wanted something. Still, though, not three days ago, the Gryffindor had been ranting about the stereotypical Slytherin and how difficult it was going to be to survive when the two Slytherins were sure to attempt to stab them in their sleep.

Now, he was referring to Blaise as 'mate' and, Draco mused, hadn't he recently had a fairly civil conversation with the redhead himself?

"Anyway..." Ron grinned sheepishly and there was the slightest flare of _something_ in Blaise's eyes that even Draco couldn't place. "Anyone want to make food? I'm not about to try and cook again."

Harry started to rise, but Draco interrupted. "Make cereal, Weasley. It would be a miracle if you managed to start a fire out of _that_." Ron shrugged and grabbed a box of Kelloggs cornflakes from an open cabinet. However, just as he was pouring it into a bowl, a sharp knocking came from the front door, startling Ron so that his hand jerked, spilling cereal onto the tabletop. "Snape," he grumbled, hastily gathering the spilt cereal into one hand.

Blaise and Draco went together to answer the door, confident that their Head of House would be kinder to them than to the two Gryffindors. Particularly since Snape was Draco's godfather and for some reason or another, Snape hated Harry. The two Slytherins were hoping to avoid any negative marks on their grade for Blaise's near magic-usage and subsequent abandonment of his quarter of fence-painting.

Harry remained in the kitchen with Ron, hoping to avoiding seeing the dreadful potions professor entirely. These hopes were crushed, however, when Snape glided into the kitchen. The man seemed to have made no effort to fit into the Muggle world, as he was still wearing his black robes. And, of course, his sneer.

"Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Zabini have just finished explaining your activities to me yesterday," the potions master drawled immediately upon sight of the two Gryffindors. "It seems to me that they completed their tasks honourably judging by the state of this house. While I'm fairly certain that the pair of you failed to preform your jobs as dutifully as your companions, I must pass you. I won't allow your _slacking_ to lower the grades of two of my best students." The professor glanced at the mess on the table before sneering and flicking his wand slightly, causing the cereal to vanish. He also caught sight of the charred stovetop and had that cleaned with another flick. "However, I can and will take off twenty points from both of you for already tarnishing the cleanliness I'm sure was present just last night."

"Twenty points," Ron groaned. Harry winced; he and Ron probably held the record for having lost the most points for having done absolutely nothing wrong.

"Perhaps another five from you, Mr. Weasley, for your... cheek." When Ron stayed silent, Snape continued. "Moving on, I'm here to relay your next task." He sighed, acting as though this errand was really not worthy of his time and pulled out a rolled-up piece of parchment. "I believe at least two of you can read." He tossed it on the kitchen table and swept out of the room, with a brief nod to the two Slytherins. "Another professor will be in tomorrow," he informed them and was gone. The front door slammed seconds later and it was the four of them once again.

As soon as Snape left, Draco reached forward with pale, nimble fingers and picked up the roll of parchment. He read the note aloud, looking rather pleased with himself.

_Now that you have cleaned the house, _

_You must keep it clean for the rest of the week._

_However, because you worked so diligently yesterday, _

_Your task today is simple._

_Engage yourselves in Muggle culture. _

_Become a tourist and go shopping._

_Go out for meals and go to places that are built for entertainment. _

_Enjoy yourselves, but also keep in mind the differences in culture._

_Muggle currency will be on the coffee table in the living room._

_A map is enclosed. A car will be prepared for your transportation at 10:30._

"We have to act like Muggles?" Draco asked incredulously. He and Blaise were shocked, although they were slightly relieved that they did not have to endure another day's labor. Harry seemed happy. When he was at the Dursley's, he had always seen Dudley have the opportunities to do what typical Muggle teenagers do while Harry had wandered the streets, was watched by Ms. Figg, or was locked up in a room in the house. Now he had the chance to do just about anything he wanted. Ron looked mildly surprised and open to the day's events. Acting like a Muggle wouldn't be too hard, he supposed.

"Guess we do," came Harry's reply in a light, composed tone, a small smile blossoming.

Roughly an hour later, Harry sat alone at the kitchen table, waiting for Ron to return with the other two and studying the map with a great concentration. He reckoned that the three pure-blooded wizards he was saddled with wouldn't know what half of the marked locations on the map were. From what Harry could tell, the professors had given the boys the choice of visiting the mall, a park, the movies, a bowling alley, a skating rink, a small cafe, a few odd shops and department stores, and a wide variety of restaurants. He figured the mall and the park would be safe enough and the bowling alley would be safest between that and skating. He sniggered slightly, imagining Draco and Zabini clinging to a railing, legs dancing as if caught by a tarantellegra. Then again, he had no idea how to skate and he was willing to bet Ron didn't know either. So it would probably be all four of them flailing about. No way was he going to embarrass himself so badly in front of Draco.

"What are you looking at, Harry?" Ron barged into the kitchen and began eating an apple he snagged from a bowl on the table.

Harry looked up, grinning when he made eye contact with his best friend. He held out the paper so that Ron could see and the redhead dropped into the seat beside him. "The map that Snape left behind. They left us a good number choices on where we can go today." Ron pulled the map closer to him, and looked at it closely.

Draco chose this moment to enter with Blaise close behind. He was smiling gleefully as he held a stack of pounds towards the light. Blaise was eyeing the money greedily. Draco slammed the stack onto the center of the table. "There was a note attached saying we each got fifty pounds each... Then there's fifty that we're to use for a group activity. It also said we weren't supposed to travel alone at any time," Draco explaimed happily. He had always enjoyed shopping, and he was glad for the opportunity, even though he had never particularly cared for Muggle fashion. Not that he knew much about it, of course. Harry's words floated back to him. "_Why do act as if your life is more valuable than any of them just because you're pureblood_?"

Draco thought back to his father. The man had always been _stuck_ on tradition. Malfoys do this; Malfoys do that. It was taught to Draco as fact, as absolutes. The boy followed the traditions; he still wanted to have the grace, intelligence, and cunning that Malfoys were known to have. Now Draco was forced to understand (or at least trying because Potter had somehow wormed his way into Draco's conscience) that some traditions could be let go... some were necessary to be let go of. With this thought in mind, Draco decided that he was going to be more open to... new experiences, one might say. His future could depend on it.

"That makes two hundred fifty pounds!" Harry exclaimed. "How much money does Hogwarts have in it's funds, if they're giving that much money away to each group of students?"

Ron was staring in wonder at the stack of money on the table, hesitantly reaching out to touch a bill. Never before had he been given possession of that much money. Sure, he would save up a few galleons every few months or so, but this... this was something else.

"Wizarding money is worth more than Muggle money," Blaise answered. He regarded Ron with a quiet air of amusement; he found it funny that money could affect the redhead so much. He opened his mouth to explain the detailsof wizarding currency to Harry, eyes still on Ron, only to be interrupted by a rhythmic knocking on the front door. Blaise glanced at the clock hanging over the kitchen. 10:30. "It's our ride," he muttered instead. He snatched up a clean suit jacket that he had draped over the back of a chair and left to answer the door. The others followed.

"Hello, kids! Your guardians hired me out to chauffeur you today. Do you know where you want to go?" A jolly, round looking, bald man stood on the front step. His greeting left the four teenagers blinking in mild surprise. "Oh, I'm Paul, by the way!" he continued with a grin as he gestured to the name tag on his stained, blue polo shirt. Draco grimaced. This man was... dirty.

"Er..." Harry blinked again. "Yeah, actually. Could you take us to the local mall? Er... My friends are from a really small town. No malls or anything of the sort... They've never... uh... been," he awkwardly explained, stumbling over the word "freinds."

Paul just laughed and the sound made all four boys wince. Blaise gritted his teeth and remembered why he disliked Muggles. It was as if they'd inserted obnoxious tendencies where their magic should be. "Of course I can! Get in the car, and we'll be there in a few minutes."

The four boys piled in the car, Draco and Blaise with some relectuance, and sat in silence until they reached the mall, although Paul had attempted to strike up smalltalk with questions like, "So how old are you kids?" and "Are enjoying your stay?" His cheery mood was not discouraged when he only received clipped, quiet responses from Harry, and they were all quite relieved to be free of him when they reached the mall.

Before he departed, however, Paul handed Harry a small mobile phone, telling him to call him (his number was the only one in the contacts list) when they were ready to leave. Harry nodded quickly before hastily rejoining the other three boys waiting at the entrance of the mall.

"Harry, I do believe you forgot to mention what, exactly, a mall is," Draco commented, looking around the huge building as they walked through the glass automatic doors. Ron and Blaise glanced at Draco briefly. His slip-up was not lost upon either of them; although, it was lost upon Harry, who looked more surprised by Draco's lack of knowledge than by the usage of his first name.

"You don't know what a mall is?" Harry asked unnecessarily. Draco scowled and glared at the boy. "Right, then. A mall is a shopping center... Never liked shopping much, myself, but seeing as I've never gotten to go to one..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "You can find most anything in malls except for groceries, I guess. So what do you guys want to do?" he questioned, now facing the others.

Blaise smirked. "Clothes. I've never been a fan of Muggle clothing, but..." He shrugged.

To his right, Ron snorted. "You're such a girl, Blaise."

Blaise ignored the insult. "First name basis, are we, _Ron_?" he retorted, still smirking as he watched Ron's face flush. His smirk briefly morphed into a slight smile before turning to Harry and Draco. "I think we should split up in pairs."

"Why?" Harry asked. He couldn't see any point in it. Draco could, however. Blaise wanted to buy himself more 'alone time' with Ron. If he got what he wanted, Draco would be left partnered with Harry... which could prove to be potentially awkward. Blaise smirked again, but didn't respond. Harry sighed, exasperated by the mysterious Slytherin. "Right, then. I can go with-"

"Draco," Blaise interrupted. Draco was sure that he was the only one who could hear the laughter in Blaise's voice.

Harry looked startled. "I was going to say Ron, so that you and Draco could go clothes shopping together... You both seem to love clothing enough."

Blaise shook his head innocently. "That wouldn't be any help in Dumbledore's master plan of house-unity, now, would it?" Draco had to hand it to Blaise; if there was one reason that would win Harry's support, it was probably that.

Harry nodded slowly, in reluctant agreement. "Fine, fine. You go with Ron and I'll go with 'll meet back here in an hour and a half... 12:15."

Blaise glanced at the blonde Slytherin with something like a mischievous twinkle in his eye, which Draco returned with a steely glare. Getting closer to Ron was all well and good for _him_, but being stuck with Potter would probably prove to be an irritation. After Harry had given the other two their money, Blaise nodded briskly and grabbed Ron's wrist, pulling him quickly in the opposite direction. Draco and Harry watched as they disappeared into the crowd, Ron casting a final baffled look over his shoulder.

Harry frowned. "Did he just-?" Harry broke off, shell-shocked as Blaise's true motivation hit him. Blaise liked Ron? _Ron_?

"Yes," Draco replied, still looking towards where Blaise and Ron had disappeared into the crowd. Blaise's rather blunt move on Weasley was a bit of a surprise. Though it wasn't near enough of one for Draco to forget the urge to begin banging his head on a nearby wall due to the situation that Blaise had very intentionally put him in.

"Is Zabini also-?" Harry started again, a curious blush rising to his cheeks.

"Possibly." Draco was going to kill Blaise when he got the chance. He began to walk forward slowly.

Harry followed with his hands in his pockets. "Did you know that he was going for Ron?" he questioned, picking up his pace to keep up with Draco's long-legged stride.

"Perhaps," was Draco's vague answer. He quickened his own pace, only to be wrenched backwards by a strong hand. He was spun around to face Harry, whose eyes were blazing.

"Draco, enough. Stop," Harry commanded. His hand was still on Draco's shoulder, causing a faint fluttering in his stomach.

Clamping down on any frivolous thoughts about butterflies, Draco swallowed and looked Harry in the eye. "Stop what, exactly?" he asked coolly. Harry glowered and tightened his grip. Draco resisted the urge to squirm under the firm grip and stare.

"Draco..." Harry began warningly. The Slytherin only stared back defiantly, his fists clenching at his side. "You need to stop being so bloody vague. It's like you're distancing yourself... from me in particular."

Draco pushed Harry's hand off his shoulder "What do you expect? We're enemies," he snarled. The venom he tried to interject into this statement, however, fell flat, so Harry just smiled.

"Hm... Are we really? I certainly don't consider you an enemy anymore, Draco." Harry replaced his hand on Draco's shoulder hesitantly. "I really don't think you consider me one, either." he softly continued.

Draco tensed defensively. "What is it that you want from me?" Draco tried to keep his voice hard, but even he could hear the traces of vulnerability that laced his words.

Uncertainty flickered in Harry's eyes and he removed his hand from Draco's shoulder. Then he smiled slightly and extended the same hand. "I want to start over. Merlin knows I'm not asking you to go all Gryffindor or Hufflepuff on me; I'm just hoping to put what's been going on out in the open."

Draco stared down at the calloused hand before him. It was a situation very similar to this one that had originally started their rivalry in the first place, though it had been Draco's hand and Harry's refusal. He could easily refuse now. Putting what had been going on out in the open? Draco hardly knew what was going on, and he was sure that whatever it was would make him the laughing stock of Slytherin. Refusing was obviously the correct thing to do here.

When he firmly shook Harry's outstretched hand, the brunette's green eyes shone and he grinned. "Great! Er... Thank you! Is there anywhere, er, in particular you want go?" he asked now, glancing around at the stores surrounding them.

Draco sighed. "I probably need to buy some Muggle clothing, actually. Don't want to be borrowing any of yours again, now would I?" Draco asked lightly, heading towards a large department store that he never would have considered entering before today.

Harry threw his head back and laughed, following Draco into the store. "Is it just you and Blaise, or do all Slytherins act like teenage girls when it comes to clothing?" Harry teased.

Draco scowled and waved him off. "Since when did you begin to reference Blaise by his first name?" he wondered as he flicked through a pile of jeans, frowning as he chose a select few to try on.

Harry shrugged, watching him. "Since I figured we're living together and Dumbledore's idea of House unity isn't that bad. He knew what he was doing, apparently." Draco didn't reply, snatching a few button-downs before turning around. Harry was looking at the shirts skeptically. "Are you planning on working in those?"

Yes, Draco's intention _had_ been to work in one of them. He glanced down at the shirts. "What's wrong with them?" he asked blankly. They weren't half bad... not too expensive, either. Harry snorted.

"Do you even know the definition of 'casual?'" Harry questioned. He was only partially kidding. Draco nodded his head, confused. Of course he knew. It was a simple enough word. "Well, this isn't it. It's something my cousin would wear to church... Try some t-shirts if you want something to work in."

Looking appalled, Draco set the shirts down began to rummage through the stack of t-shirts, instead. Many of them he dismissed immediately. Really. Why would he want a shirt with a yellow dot with a mouth and eyes on it that read 'Pacman?' It made absolutely no sense, and Draco wondered what on earth Muggles did in their spare time. In the end, Draco chose a few solid coloured shirts and disappeared into the dressing room, leaving Harry whistling an odd Muggle tune on one of the benches by the exit.

Draco emerged within minutes, payed for a shirt and a pair of jeans and walked briskly towards the exit. He jerked his head to the right, gesturing for Harry to join him. "Didn't you look for anything?" Draco asked curiously as they turned a corner. Harry shook his head and made a face. Draco rolled his eyes. "You do realize Hogwarts gave you the money so that you could actually spend it, right?" Harry shrugged, but made no attempt to speak. "Am I going to have to find a way to spend your money for you?" he asked, smirking.

"Go right ahead. Take it; I don't care," Harry pulled his fifty pounds from his pocket and handed it to Draco, who looked at the money in his hand with a surprised expression.

"I can spend it however I'd like?" he asked cautiously after a moment.

Harry nodded wearily. "However you'd like." Draco smirked again and abruptly shoved Harry sideways into a shop. The place was small and had white walls, with the exception of framed pictures of flowers and a flashing neon sign that read, 'Walk-ins allowed!' A line of porcelain sinks with chairs in front of them were placed in the middle of the room, each chair facing a mirror. Harry turned to Draco, a horrified expression plastered on his face. "Oh, no."

"This is how your money is being spent; you're getting your hair cut." Draco chuckled, waving one of the women over.

Harry shook his head violently. "My hair doesn't cut, you know. My aunt tried. It always grew back at night," he protested.

Draco shook his head. He was still smirking, much to Harry's annoyance, and then he leaned over to mutter directly into Harry's ear. "It grew back because of your accidental magic, I'm guessing. You're not miserable enough right now for that stunt to work. You're getting the haircut." Harry scowled, unable to protest any further, owing to the fact that a short woman who was chewing gum loudly had already pushed him into a one of the chairs in the center of the room and began to toy with his hair.

"Sir, do you know how you would like your haircut today?" she asked in a bored voice.

Harry opened his mouth to say, 'Just a trim,' but Draco beat him to it. "I'll be in charge of that, miss. He," Draco pointed to Harry, "has quite the history of being incredibly indecisive." Harry's fists clenched. Maybe Draco had been lying when they'd shaken each other's hands before... This certainly seemed like a ploy cruel enough for enemies.

Half an hour later, Harry and Draco were walking through the mall, heading towards the meeting point. They had stopped once when Draco had dived into a store selling lotions and other such products. He claimed that he went in to grab some hair product, as he was running low. Waiting in the checkout line had been uncomfortable; the store was mainly filled with middle-aged women who stared at Harry and Draco as if they were intruders of sorts, so the boys had huddled a little closer together in defense.

Harry hadn't spoken to Draco out of stubbornness after his hair had been cut, although he had to admit, to himself at least, that it looked better. Less haphazardly messy and more... stylishly messy. Draco, on the other hand, hadn't spoken to Harry beyond what was necessary because he was shaken by the results a simple haircut could bring. He remembered his thoughts yesterday... _No, he had never thought himself to attracted to the Gryffindor._ But that was yesterday. Today, per contra, he reluctantly knew himself to be _extremely_ attracted to the Gryffindor.

Now, the two boys sat together on the same bench, looking in opposite directions. Finally, Blaise and Ron came staggering into view. Rather, Ron came staggering into view. He seemed to he carrying both Blaise's and his own shopping bags. Blaise strode into view as if hadn't a care in the world. "Hello, Draco," Blaise greeted. His eyes flickered to Harry for the briefest of seconds, taking in the haircut. "Did you lose Potter?"

"Hey, Blaise," Harry spoke, traces of amusement in his voice. Blaise nodded then turned to Draco; they began to converse silently, again complete with eye quirks and hand gestures.

Ron dropped several shopping bags and his jaw dropped. "Blimey, Harry! What did you you do with your... your?" Ron ran his hands through his mop of red hair. "Hair?" Harry cocked an eyebrow and Ron flushed. "I mean, it looks good. Great, even, but you haven't cut your hair... ever!"

Harry's eyebrow rose further, threatening to disappear behind his bangs, which had been layered and hung naturally over his scar. He hadn't even asked for that, but the girl had been rather insistent. Harry didn't mind the natural camouflage in the slightest. It kept him from tugging his bangs over it himself. "Long story, mate. You hungry? We could get some lunch from the food court around the corner," Harry pointed his thumb in one direction.

Ron's eyes glinted. "Course I'm hungry! We'll grab those two and get down there."

Harry glanced at the two Slytherins, whose conversation had grown to whispers that could not be comprehended by anyone other than the speakers. "Oi, you two!" The conversation ceased immediately; Blaise and Draco looked up, wearing identical, bland expressions. "We're going to eat. I'm assuming that both of you are hungry?"

Draco and Blaise whispered a few last hassled words before standing up. "Lead the way," Blaise said calmly and moved his arm, signaling the two Gryffindors to step ahead of them. His gaze went to Ron, lips curving slightly. Ron's eyes rounded slightly, cheeks reddening, but he only marched ahead, not looking the dark-skinned boy in the eye. Harry's brows disappeared beneath his bangs. Uh-oh.

"So what'd you buy, Ron?" Harry asked curiously as he began eating a huge slice of pizza.

Ron flushed, and Blaise slid into the seat next to the embarrassed boy. "Technically, I chose what he bought for him," Blaise smirked. "He was all set on spending his money on odd trinkets like a lamp, deck of Muggle cards, or that teen romance paperback." Ron shot him a wide-eyed look, mortified that Blaise would mention that. "I convinced him to buy some clothing that didn't look or smell like it came from someone's great-aunt's house."

"Do you have any money left?" Harry inquired.

Ron shook his head bashfully. "What about you, Harry did you get anything?"

Harry shook his, then paused to think a moment. "Actually, not buying anything led to this." Harry gestured to his hair. "Draco went into a second-hand shop to buy some Muggle clothing, and-"

Draco comically nearly spit out his drink, his hand flying up to cover his mouth. "That place was second-hand?" Draco spat out, after a good couple minutes of coughing and spluttering out water.

Harry stared at Draco. "I thought you knew that! Wait, why does it matter?" Harry exclaimed, surprise and confusion flitting across his face.

"You two argue like an old married couple," Blaise stated idly, looking back and forth from Harry to Draco. Both Harry and Draco gave him a fierce glare before continuing.

"Muggle-style clothing is bad enough! That it's second-hand is just demeaning!" Draco ranted furiously.

Ron didn't look surprised. If anything, it looked like Draco had managed to earn himself an entirely separate facial expression that clearly read, "Draco Malfoy is a spoiled git. Nothing new." Harry didn't seem to be outraged, either. He just seemed annoyed. "You do realize that both Ron and I wore and wear second-hand clothing the majority of our lives?" Harry asked tiredly.

"Malfoys don't-" Draco began out of habit; Harry silenced him with a single look. His thoughts were clear, 'Are you really going to go there again?'

Blaise cleared his throat. "Putting aside Draco's distaste for his clothing, what exactly is _this?_" Blaise looked in disgust at the hamburger and fries that Ron had ordered for him.

Ron rolled his eyes and looked to Harry, 'Slytherins,' he mouth and proceeded to explain what exactly the food was to Blaise, who began to lower the hamburger to the plate, muttering something about a salad. Ron seized the hamburger, tore a piece from it and shoved the food into Blaise's mouth as he was speaking.

Blaise's eyes widened at being touched then narrowed at the _gall_ that someone would touch him. Ron's hand was still clamped over his mouth, so Blaise was forced to eat the offending food, glaring at Ron, who didn't seem to care. Ron removed his hand, wiped on his jeans and continued eating his own burger, his cheeks a bright red because, bloody hell, he'd just done that. "Weasley, you'll pay for that," Blaise murmured.

Draco turned to Harry. "I'm afraid you're best mate most likely just signed a death contract," he murmured, tone serious. "No one has ever pushed Blaise that far." Harry looked passed Draco, looking at Blaise. "He's eating it though."

Draco turned, gaped a moment before regaining his composure and chuckling quietly. "Well, Weasley may have a chance of life yet." He sobered again and looked back at Harry. "Some habits... will take time to die." Harry nodded; that was the equivalent of an apology from Draco, though Harry wondered if it was even possible for Draco to apologize outright.

"Right. We could go to the bowling alley next." Harry pulled out the map and opened it before taking the phone Paul had given him earlier. "I'll call the creepy bald bloke... Then we probably have fifteen minutes or so to wait till he gets here." The other three crowded around the map and reviewed the selections. By the time Paul arrived, they had made their decision.


	7. Only the Good Die Young

**Ah, well. Here's the next chapter...obviously. Anyway, I forgot to give StarShineDC her credit for betaing my last chapter; so, credit is now being given for both the last chapter and this chapter. She's brilliant, has done wonders for my writing, and is in the process of writing "Scorpius's Request." It's amazing. **

Harry was the first to leap out of the car when the car stopped, eager to be out of Paul's chatty presence. He stood just outside a decidedly dingy looking building, hand on the door to let the other three in. Blaise, Draco, and Ron clambered out of the car slowly, eying the building with wary eyes. Harry tapped his foot impatiently as they took their sweet time getting to the door. Harry clucked his tongue with slight irritation. "Oh, relax. It's just a bowling alley," he said, failing to remember that he was the only one of the four to know what a bowling alley was. Thus, it was unsurprising when his words did nothing to soothe the three pure-bloods.

"It looks like some sort gang meeting place?" Ron asked cautiously.

Harry snorted, remembering that Dudley had once held a birthday party at a bowling alley years ago. In this way, Harry supposed it was sort of a gang meeting place. But he wasn't about to say so aloud to the three of them. "Yes, Ron. The professors at Hogwarts decided it would be best for the students to visit a gang meeting place so that they could be educated in Muggle culture. It's brilliant. Why didn't I think of it myself?" he answered sarcastically.

Ron grinned sheepishly and pushed open the door. The inside of the bowling alley was not any less dingy than the outside; a moldy looking brown carpet covered about half of the large room. Some of the lights flickered as they walked to a counter that was to the boys' immediate left. Harry lead the group to the counter and hit the small, silver bell on the surface.

A greasy looking man looked up from a sports magazine. "Can I help you?" he wheezed, looking greedily at the expensive suits that Draco and Blaise were still wearing. The two Slytherins looked slightly insulted that a Muggle would look at them in such a way, exchanged looks of disgust.

Harry had never bowled, though he knew out the basics of the game. "Er... Could we get a lane, please?" he asked uncertainly.

The man at the counter shifted his eyes back to the brunette. "And do you need bowling shoes?" he inquired dully.

Shoes? Why would they need shoes? Harry glanced at his tennis shoes. He wasn't the only one looking curiously at his feet, wondering if the greasy man was dim. The man caught their confused expressions and sighed with exasperation. "Yes, shoes. So you don't slip? We have shoes available for rent for our customers who don't have shoes." He waited until Harry nodded slowly. "Great. I'll need to get your shoe size, please. When you receive you shoes, I must ask that you give me your own shoes. I'll put them behind the counter."

Moments later, Harry was trying to coax the others into putting on the shoes. Even Ron, who had lived with second-hand materials his entire life, seemed disgusted and unwilling to put the tattered, oddly-colored shoes on. Harry threw his hands up and glared. "Put the shoes on, or I'll... or I'll..."

Blaise and Draco raised an eyebrow. "Or you'll do what exactly, Potter?" Blaise asked. He had yet to so much as touch the shoes.

Harry's glare hardened. "I'm sure you lot will enjoy cooking for yourself the next several days," he commented. Ron put on the shoes quicker than one could say "quidditch." Draco looked defeated and reached out a hesitant hand towards the shoes, then jerked it back quickly. Finally, he sighed and pulled them on, rationalizing that socked feet were much more improper than the ugly shoes.

Soon, Blaise was the only one who didn't have the offensive things on. He stared coolly at Harry, wondering to himself if he could manage cooking on his own. He'd been the one who'd cooked the bloody soup when Potter had been a toddler, after all.

Ron huffed. "C'mon, Blaise. We're here to have fun. Just put 'em on."

Blaise sent a glare Draco's way when he heard the blonde quietly snicker. If Draco thought that _Ron_ was going to be able to convince him... But then Ron picked up the shoes and held them out, a hesitant smile on his face. "It'll be fun?" Averting his gaze, Blaise grabbed the shoes with a scowl.

Ron's smile grew; he looked a bit triumphant, in Draco's opinion. The red-haired Gryffindor looked around the bowling alley. "What do we do now?" he asked Harry, who looked around the bowling alley as well, hoping to find another bowler to observe and copy. However, the four wizards were the only ones there, so Harry was at a slight disadvantage.

He bit his lip a moment and decided to wing it. "Now," Harry stood up and walked to a rack of balls, "you choose your bowling ball." Harry picked up a violently red bowling ball that weighed ten pounds. The other boys chose similar bowling balls of the same weight; Ron's was a royal blue, Blaise's was a dark grey, and Draco's was a bright emerald green.

"Colour of Potter's eyes, eh?" Blaise murmured to Draco as he walked back to the bench in front of their lane.

Draco flushed brilliantly. "It isn't uncommon for a Slytherin to like the colour green, Blaise," he choked out, louder than he had intended. Ron and Harry looked over, confusion written on both of their faces. Ron glanced at the bowling ball that Draco held in his left hand. Then, startled, he glanced at Harry. His gaze flicked back and forth several times between the two before they landed on Draco suspiciously. He snickered, however, when he noticed how red the Slytherin's face was.

Harry still looked confused. "So, anyway, I'll go first to show you how I _think_ the game is supposed to go." He maneuvered himself so that he was looking down the center of the lane. "Merlin knows I watched Dudley stare at the bloody bowling tournaments on the television long enough," Harry muttered to himself as he breathed in deeply, drawing back his right arm. He bowled the ball, watching with slight disappointment when it very quickly rolled into the gutter. Rather unnecessarily, a screen overhead flashed "Gutter ball!" in red letters and showed a dash being marked in the first small box on the score board by Player One.

Ron clapped enthusiastically on the bench, while Draco and Blaise looked skeptical. "Great job, Harry!" Ron exclaimed earnestly. "Is that the point of the game? Leaving the white things standing?" he asked, expecting a 'yes.'

Harry shook his head, an embarrassed smile curving his lips as he picked up his ball from the machine to his right. "The point of the game is knock down the pins," he explained, resuming his stance in front of the lane. "I'm just awful at bowling," Harry offered before drawing back his arm a second time and releasing the ball. This time, much to brunette's surprise, the ball met its target and knocked down all the pins. "Spare!" the screen now flashed and marked a '/' in the other box.

The Gryffindor's cheeks tinged. "So, who's up next?" Harry asked. Ron stood up, unsurprisingly, grabbed his ball and attempted to mimic Harry's movements. He fared fairly well for the first time, knocking down seven of the ten pins in total. Ron walked back to the bench with his arms raised. He nudged Blaise to go, but the Slytherin simply nudged Draco instead.

Draco smirked. "Go ahead, Blaise. I'm sure it will be_ fun_," he quoted Ron lightly. Blaise rolled his eyes, but wasn't able to completely dash away the embarrassment. Ron, on the other hand, chuckled, although his cheeks were reddening.

When it became clear that Blaise wasn't going to take the bait, Draco stood to take his turn. Having not paid much attention to Harry's demonstration, he really had no idea whatsoever what he was doing. Like Harry, his first attempt resulted in a gutter ball. Harry shuffled towards him awkwardly, gazed trained on the ground. "Er, I honestly don't know much of anything about bowling form, but I can help you a little bit." Harry eyed the ball and took Draco's silence as assent.

"First, your thumb, middle, and ring finger go in those three holes... Like this." Harry demonstrated with his own bowling ball. Draco sighed and copied the Gryffindor, and Harry set his ball down. "Then, you draw it towards your chest and figure where you're aiming." Harry nodded when he saw Draco follow the direction, his gaze lingering a little longer than necessary on the blonde until he realized he was staring.

Clearing his throat, he stepped forward and captured Draco's wrist. "Then you, um, bring your arm back." Harry navigated the boy's arm into the right position. Draco drew in a shaky breath at the other's close proximity. Their eyes met, Harry's going wide when Draco's gaze dropped to his lips. He took a hesitant step back. "Ah... You know the rest," Harry muttered and went back into his seat.

Draco swallowed and repeated the process, this time scoring six. He glanced at Harry, who smiled slightly. When he returned to his seat, he heard Ron speak, "You're up, Blaise."

Harry stood with a grin. "I'm going to go get a drink. Anyone else want one?" Three faces looked up, shining with a sheen of sweat, and nodded. The bowling alley didn't seem to have an air conditioner, which left each boy uncomfortably warm with the physical exertion. Draco and Blaise had finally relented and taken off their suit jackets sometime in the fifth frame, leaving them both in button-down shirts with long sleeves rolled up.

Harry frowned. "I won't be able to carry four drinks on my own... Blaise, help me carry them, won't you?" Blaise opened his mouth to refuse, but something in Harry's tone of voice made him close his mouth and follow Harry to the concessions stand.

"What are you aiming at?" Harry asked bluntly when they reached their destination.

Blaise's gaze, which had been wandering the room, immediately snapped to Harry. "I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about, Potter," he responded stiffly, noticing that the other boy's emerald eyes were boring into him with an intense fierceness.

Harry began to drum his fingers on the counter, not relenting his gaze. "Don't lie, Zabini. You're trying to do something to Ron." Blaise raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Harry continued with a little huff, "You're notorious for being quite the player when you find someone who passes your standards. I'm not going to let you do that to Ron; he's my best mate."

"I'm not going to _do_ anything!" Blaise exclaimed, insulted by the insinuation. He may have watched his mother go through seven husbands, but that certainly didn't mean he was like her.

"Just like you didn't _do_ anything to Lavender Brown," Harry pointed out. "I mean, I don't even particularly like or know the girl very well, but it was still obvious that she was miserable for the next month," Harry retorted with a protective glint in his eye.

Blaise frowned. "Lavender Brown is and was very possessive. She hardly gave me any space," he explained carefully. "Besides that, you have no right judge on that. You don't know the full story, and as you said, you don't know her very well."

"I know enough. I saw how you broke her heart!" Harry snapped, though a seed of uncertainty had been ingrained in his mind.

Blaise snorted uncharacteristically. "Potter, I know you're a Gryffindor, but even you can't deny that the girl tends to be melodramatic." Harry tilted his head and pursed his lips; he really could not deny that. "That relationship fell apart because she acted like a moronic twit, nothing more," he said coolly.

Harry deflated slightly. "Ron's acting differently than before-"

Blaise chortled, interrupting him. "Draco's acting differently than before." Blaise knew that he had outsmarted the Gryffindor when Harry flushed slightly.

"I really don't see how that is relevant-" Harry spluttered with wide eyes. His fingers stopped drumming on the surface of the counter.

"Please." Blaise cut him off with a smirk and a flick of his wrist. "Your situation is precisely the same as mine." Harry immediately began to shake his head 'no' wildly, but, Blaise continued before he could speak, his eyes narrowing a fraction. "If you are really going to stand there and tell me that there is absolutely nothing going on between the two of you, then you're lying to me and yourself... probably to Draco, too."

Harry opened and closed his mouth in astonishment, but he was not given the time to react because someone cleared their throat. Both spun around to face a teenage girl with light brown hair pulled up into a messy bun who looked decidedly bored. "Is there anything you need or are you going to stand there discussing your love affairs all day?" she asked rudely and Blaise scowled.

The Gryffindor, however, ignored the rudeness and asked politely, "Er... Yes, sorry. Could I get four water bottles, please?" The girl nodded before reaching around to a mini fridge and grabbing the requested drinks. Harry paid for the bottles, gathered all but one into his arms, forgetting the reason he'd given for Blaise's presence, and marched off towards the other boys. Blaise shook his head and followed.

When Harry handed Ron his drink, he looked thoughtful as the latter flashed him a smile. However, Harry barely looked at Draco when he tossed the Slytherin the water. Blaise smirked slightly at the interaction, which resulted in Draco's barely concealed confusion, as he made his entrance, holding his own bottle of water. Harry forced a smile. "Ready to start the next game?" He picked up his ball and began without waiting for an answer.

Ron and Draco both looked at Harry with confusion. "What did you say to him?" Ron inquired curiously. Blaise shrugged calmly, neglecting to give a actual answer. The Gryffindor stared for a minute before realizing that he wasn't going to get anything else out of the Slytherin.

Halfway through the second game, Ron bought nachos, thrilled at the prospect of being able to buy..._ anything_ for someone else.

Again, Blaise and Draco were picking gingerly at the Muggle food, though they were not eating it. Ron had gone through a major portion of the food within five minutes of buying it. Blaise watched the food disappear with an amused expression. Harry ate at a moderate pace, looking anywhere but at Draco, who had finally chosen to take a bite of the nachos. Immediately, he recoiled with a look of disgust and placed the chip back on the plate. It was _spicy_.

"Are you going to eat any of those?" Ron asked, mouth full. He was eyeing Blaise's nearly untouched plate of nachos.

Blaise began to shake his head when a devilish glint entered his eye. "You aren't going make me?" he asked slyly. Draco rolled his eyes; Harry slammed both hands down onto his knees.

Ron looked flustered as he remembered his actions earlier that day. "N-no," he stuttered, growing progressively redder when Blaise parted his lips and flicked out his tongue, still managing to smirk.

"Oh, just snog already, though please, not in front of me," Harry inserted, more to himself than the other three. He was clearly heard by the three pure-bloods, however, and Draco snorted. Blaise, unexpectedly, offered Harry a genuine smile. Realizing what he'd just said, Harry buried his face in his hands while Ron gaped at him.

"I- what? Of... of course not! I wou- Never!" the red-haired boy spluttered, his face nearly the same shade of red as Harry's bowling ball. He looked back and forth from Harry to Blaise, still spluttering.

Harry lifted his head and whispered, "If you're going to sit there and deny it, then you're lying to me, yourself... and probably Blaise."

Ron fell silent before he choked out, "I think it was my turn," and quickly left the group to take his turn. The rest of the second game and all of the third game passed smoothly, excepting Draco's mildly disgruntled demeanour after losing two games in a row. Harry had just called Paul, so the boys were pointing to various locations on the map, trying to decide where go next. Eventually, they all agreed to go to the small cafe as their last experience of Muggle culture for the day.

Ron and Harry entered the cafe in a subdued manner, while Draco and Blaise walked about outside, with their usual air of arrogance. They had claimed that they were going to stay outside for a bit to count up the last of the money, which they both seemed strangely to be in possession of.

The two Gryffindors absently watched the Slytherins from their table, gazing through the front windows. "Harry," Ron began.

"Look, Ron, I'm sorry for what I said in the bowling alley," Harry interrupted, not looking at his friend.

Ron shook his head. "No, mate. That's not what I meant." Harry looked back, confused. "I was just wonderin' what you and Blaise were talking about that got you all worked up."

The brunette averted his gaze once again, turning his head to hide the slight blush that had risen to his cheeks. "Erm... Well, you see, I actually... kind of... _maybe_ I confronted Blaise about... you know," he mumbled, unable to lie to his best mate, who's brows lifted. He was trying to restrain himself from chuckling, though the tips of his ears had turned a slight red. "And then he may have flipped the discussion on me and-" Harry shut his mouth, looking slightly panicked as he realized that Blaise and Draco had entered the cafe and were nearby. Fortunately for him, neither of the Slytherins had heard the discussion before they sat down opposite Ron and Harry.

A male voice echoed throughout the uncrowded cafe. "Hello, ladies and gentlemen! It's fantastic to see you here on this lovely afternoon. I'm just here to remind everybody that it is, in fact, karaoke night. We will be beginning in," a man standing on a small stage at the front of the room glanced at his watch, "fifteen minutes. We will be stopping at nine o'clock for our live performance by our one-man band, Jack Keys!" A few people in the cafe clapped politely before returning to their drink.

Shortly after, a waitress appeared besides the wizards' table. "Hi, guys! Is there anything I can get you?" she asked with a smile. The four boys looked clueless and turned to study to a blackboard which had several names of drinks written neatly on it in colourful chalk.

"Could I just get a caramel frappaccino?" Harry asked; Ron signaled with his hand for the same. She nodded. Blaise asked for black coffee, and Draco requested an espresso. She nodded and departed, leaving them to wait in silence for their drinks.

Within minutes, each boy sat in the booth with their hands encircling his cup or mug. "You know, Draco, you should sign up for the karaoke," Blaise suggested idly, a smirk painted on his face. The blonde scowled as Ron burst into a fit of laughter, picturing the occurrence in his mind. Draco singing on stage? It'd be grand, definitely a story to tell when they made it back to Hogwarts.

"Yes, Draco, you should." Harry chuckled, now eying Draco with twinkle in his eye. Ron nodded his agreement, grinning. The blonde glowered and it was obvious that nothing short of an "Avada Kedavra" would convince him to participate in the event. "I won't cook for you?" Harry added hopefully.

Draco raised an elegant eyebrow. "Are we really reverting back to that?" The Gryffindor nodded, quickly realizing that that threat wouldn't work a second time. "Rather Slytherin in a very juvenile way, I must say. No, Harry, it won't work for two reasons. One, I hardly think the golden boy of Gryffindor is going to starve anyone. Second, I'm sure I could find a way to feed myself if you tried." He leaned back into his seat, arms crossed.

Harry, suddenly determined to hear Draco sing, offered a deal. "I'll do it if you do it," he blurted before he could stop himself.

Draco's eyebrow rose further. "You do realize I don't know any Muggle songs."

Harry snickered. "You could always sing one of those songs from that Disney cartoon we watched." Blaise and Ron's eyes fell on Harry, Ron's wide, Blaise's smug. This was the first time Harry had mentioned anything that suggested he remembered the events of the day that he became a toddler.

A small smile curled at Blaise's lips. "Well, I win; he does remember. You owe me a galleon when we get back to school, Ron." Ron's brow furrowed, obviously thinking of a way to avoid paying Blaise. "I will haunt you until you pay," Blaise added with a smirk. Ron glared in defeat, slumping in his chair.

Harry looked mildly surprised before turning back to Draco, who looked mortified. "I most certainly will not perform a song that a bunch of baboons and lions sang! The mere thought of it is appalling!"

Harry paused, thoughtful. "You know some," he lowered his voice, "wizarding songs, right?" Draco nodded. "Well, I'll tell you what, if I sing a Muggle song here, will you sing a song back at the house?" Reluctantly, Draco nodded again. Harry smirked triumphantly and stood to sign up with his name and song.

After a woman had attempted a song by Barbra Streisand, and after a young man had sung "It's My Life," Harry was introduced by the same man from before. "And here we have our third... and final, seeing as not very many signed up, performer." Harry nervously took his place on the small stage and took off his glasses to polish them, hurriedly shoving them back on when he heard a keyboard introduction.

_Come out, Virginia, don't let me wait_

_You Catholic girls start much too late_

_Aw, but sooner or later it comes down to fate_

_I might as well be the one..._

_Well, they showed you a statue; told you to pray_

_They built you a temple and locked you away_

_Aw, but they never told you the price that you pay_

_For things that you might have done..._

_Only the good die young!_

Harry began softly, but a smile spread on his face as the song progressed. Eventually, he seemed to forget that he was on stage altogether and began to accompany the song with gestures and movements. Blaise tapped his fingers to the beat; Ron laughed happily and clapped; Draco stared at the boy, chin resting on the palm of his hand. Harry's voice was not spectacular by any means, but he looked... happy. That combined with his new haircut was enough to make Draco very sure that he wanted to kiss Harry again. He fought down the urge to do so as soon as Harry returned to the table, breathless, and instead gave the boy a small round of applause while forcing a smirk upon his face. Harry grinned again and bowed.

"Thank you, thank you. I hate to interrupt your fawning," Harry joked, "but we have to get out of here. I just got a text from the driver; he's off at five and the house is a thirty minute drive from here. He's waiting outside."

They stood, Blaise leaving a tip behind, and left.

"It's your turn," Harry stated upon entering the living room and finding Draco alone. He was sitting on the couch, staring at the black television screen because he really had no idea how to turn it on. Blaise had already announced that he was going to shower and retire to his room for the evening. Ron was ready to head to his room, too, but he was going to eat and then go read the Chudley Cannons magazine he'd borrowed from Seamus Finnigan.

"Right now?" Draco drawled tiredly; he looked up at Harry, who was wearing an expectant expression and nodding vigorously. "...No," he said turning his gaze back to the black TV.

Instead of dropping the subject, as Draco had hoped, Harry instead plopped on the couch beside the blonde. "We made a deal," he pointed out. He was looking at Draco, who could feel Harry's eyes on the side of his head. "Draco." Harry drew out the name, traces of a smile in his voice.

The Slytherin looked over, the tone rousing his suspicions. "And just why should I honor the agreement?"

This caught Harry offguard. "Er... uh... ah," he stammered. "Because that's what... ah... all brilliant Slytherins do?" the brunette replied hopefully.

Draco chuckled. "Potter, a brilliant Slytherin gets what he wants and only keeps their end of the bargain when it's worthwhile for future deals."

Harry scowled. "Fine. I don't really know exactly why I want to hear you sing, but I'm very nearly begging... " Draco shot an amused expression in the Gryffindor's direction, and Harry decided to follow impulse.

Giving a wry smile, Harry climbed down from the couch and sat on his knees before the blonde. "Draco Malfoy, it humiliates me to say, but I am on my knees. Won't you please keep your side of the deal?"

The blonde couldn't help it - he laughed. "Call the _Prophet_. The great Harry Potter is on his knees _begging_ Draco Malfoy." He waved a hand, signalling that Harry should rise. "You win this one, then."

The boy smirked and slid back onto the couch, looking at Draco with the straightest face he could muster. "And... begin."

"It's a bit more difficult a capella!" Draco snapped half-heartily.

Harry rolled his eyes. "C'mon. It's a bit more difficult in front of a dozen people you don't even know, trust me."

Draco frowned and quickly scanned his mind for a song. He began to sing.

_No matter wrong,_

_Or no matter right,_

_This trip is for,_

_The better fight._

_It travels slow,_

_And is solitaire._

_So he's all aboard,_

_A train to nowhere._

He stopped after the chorus and shrugged. "I can't remember the rest of it." Draco glanced at Harry, who was looking at him with a transfixed expression. The Slytherin began to inch away, resisting the urge to lean forward and take advantage of the sudden urge to kiss the brunette.

Harry shook his head. "Very nice, Draco. So now that you've kept your end of the bargain, want to watch a movie with me?" The Gryffindor rose to rifle through the stack of movies near the television, hiding his face in case of rejection. He didn't want Draco to see how hopeful he was.

Draco frowned, watching the brunette thoughtfully. "As long as it's not a movie with talking animals... or cartoons," he replied suspiciously.

Harry held up a DVD case. "No talking animals or cartoons in _Lord of the Rings. _I remember Dudley being in love with this movie at one point." He popped the disc out of its case and dropped it into the player. "So... I'm going to make some popcorn."

He returned minutes later, just as the disc started to play the opening, and sank down beside the Slytherin, a large bowl of popcorn in his lap. "Um... want any?"

Upstairs, Ron was staring intensely at a chess board. He felt rather at loss without the usual chaos of the pieces smashing one another to bits or moving on command. At least he'd stopped talking to the pieces and waiting for them to move like a git. He flicked his gaze upwards, watching one of Blaise's brows quirked and quickly looked back down, vaguely wondering how he'd gotten into this.

Alright, well, he knew how. While he'd been in the washroom upstairs, brushing his teeth, Blaise had entered the room, his hair was still damp from his shower and his shirt only partially buttoned. When he saw Ron staring at him, the Slytherin had lifted his hands in mock surrender. "I just forgot to grab my toothbrush." With a small smile, he'd plucked the thing from a little canister on the counter. Ron leaned against the counter, watching Blaise as he spread toothpaste over the bristles.

"I found a Muggle chess board," he began conversationally. "Perhaps you would-" He looked up, breaking off since Ron's head was bobbing up and down, eyes gleaming at the thought of chess.

Now, thirty minutes later, Ron was very close to winning the game, much to Blaise's surprise. Ron was just thrilled to have such a decent opponent. Bless Harry, but he was bollocks at chess and Hermione really wasn't much better. Blaise was fantastic. "Check," Ron said, moving his knight.

Blaise frowned and was quiet for several minutes before making his move. "You're very good at this; I don't think any one has ever gotten so close to defeating me." Blaise watched Ron's face carefully.

"I think you mean, 'I don't think any one has ever beaten me. Checkmate," Ron corrected with a pleased expression and a simple move of his remaining bishop.

The other studied the chess board, leaned back, and gave a respectful nod. "Impressive, I admit. But the real question remains." He paused, gazing into Ron's eyes. "Do you think you would be able to win a second time?"

Ron smiled and it did irritating things to Blaise's insides. ...Though he immediately wondered just how to get such smiles out of the redhead more often. "I _know_ I'd be able to win again, but I'll have to kick your arse another time. I borrowed a Cannons magazine, and I really need to finish it before we get back to Hogwarts."

Blaise nodded and stood up. "I think I, myself, will get a glass of water and then will read my own book." As he spoke, he walked to Ron, who was already standing to go. "First, though, I'd like to..." He trailed off, fitting his lips to Ron's. It was very brief, very gentle. As though the slightest of pressure would send the Gryffindor scurrying from the room.

But the kiss, could such a light brush be called such, was over as quickly as it had begun. Ron stepped back, looking as dazed as Blaise felt. Though, physically, it had been nothing more than a simple touch of the lips, it had managed to send both boys into an emotional overdrive.

Ron swallowed, eyes big and bright. "Ah... Right, then." He touched his lips, sending Blaise a last look before walking out.

Blaise sank heavily into the chair the redhead had vacated and wondered just what he was getting into.

**The two songs that I used in this chapter are "Only the Good Die Young," by Billy Joel and "Train to Nowhere," by Oliver Boyd and the Remembralls. Each is a rather catchy song. Thank you for reading my story; it means so much to me. It'd mean the world to me if you reviewed. Thank you again!**


	8. Quaint Stores

Professor Sprout was a very kindly and patient woman, as these were customary traits for a Hufflepuff. When no one answered the door at nine o'clock in the morning, the elderly witch merely smiled to herself, cast _Alohamora_ on the lock, and entered the house, assuming that the occupants within had simply exhausted themselves the previous day. Her smile grew as she walked into the living room to find Harry and Draco sprawled on opposite sides of the couch; their legs were entwined as they slept soundly, despite the dramatic, loud theme music of _Lord of the Rings_ that continued to play from the screen. They were both still dressed in their clothing from the day before.

The woman clucked her tongue in a motherly fashion as she began to shake the boys awake. "Good morning, Mr. Malfoy," the herbology professor greeted as she moved to the side to wake Gryffindor. Draco shot up, alarmed. He relaxed slightly when he recognized who had woken him, only to tense again. He could hardly believe that he had slept in his suit or that his legs were tangled with Harry's. He scrambled off the couch upon this realization, causing Harry to tumble to the floor in a yelping heap before Professor Sprout could shake him awake.

The witch took this in stride. "Good morning, Mr. Potter. Why don't you boys go upstairs, wake your friends, and change into fresh clothing? I'll prepare a bit of food for you with a little of this and that." She demonstrated, flicking her wand about in a merry way.

Tiredly, Harry nodded and sent a glare Draco's way when she turned away from him, rubbing a sore spot on the back of head. The Slytherin, a smirk in place, simply shrugged and proceeded up the stairs, trying desperately to smooth his ruffled hair. Harry followed, stumbling slightly as he struggled to fully awaken. A dark figure appeared at the top of the stairwell, straightening the white collar of his shirt. Draco stopped abruptly and Harry bumped into him; Draco grabbed the banister to regain his balance.

"Blaise," Draco said with exasperation, not even bothering to look back at the Gryffindor. "Did you know that Professor Sprout was already _in_ here?"

"Oh, yes. She was knocking on the door for ten minutes. I expect she entered?" Blaise replied absently, starting down the stairs around the two.

"You should probably stop leaving professors on the doorstep," the other Slytherin commented, irritable that a second teacher had seen him while his appearance anything less than its best.

Ron now came into sight, also fully dressed and energized. "Morning, Harry, Malfoy!" He addressed the two, a chipper note in his voice.

Draco turned to Blaise, who had stopped midway down the stairs at Ron's approach. "You woke up Weasley when Harry and I were downstairs!" he growled, not bothering to keep the accusation out of his voice. "That's taking your crush a bit far, Blaise."

The boy simply chuckled, though his cheeks darkened faintly. "Now, where's the humour in that?" he inquired lightly and proceeded down the stairs.

Ron looked sympathetically at Harry. "Sorry, mate. He told me you two were already awake downstairs." The brunette nodded, not really caring, and looked idly at Malfoy, who had stormed to his room and slammed the door. "Not really a morning person, is he?" Ron commented to his friend with a grin. Harry returned the grin and headed towards his own room.

Not ten minutes later, all four boys were sitting at the table with a steaming plate of scrambled eggs before them. Draco seemed considerably less displeased now that he had something to eat. Perhaps he was like Ron in that way, Harry mused as he took a bite of his own eggs.

Professor Sprout stood at the head of the table, gazing fondly at the young wizards. "Today, your task is going to be more household chores," she began. Ron groaned; the thought of another day's hard work was not appealing to him, especially after their muggle culture day. The woman continued brightly, "Not strenuous ones, Mr. Weasley. Two of you will go to a laundromat and wash the groups' clothing. The other two will go to the grocery store and stock up on food and whatnot. Money is on the coffee table, again, and your driver will be here in an hour, allowing you to collect your dirty clothing." She produced a familiar-looking, rolled up piece of parchment from her pocket. "If there's anything I've missed...well, it's on here. On another note, I'm afraid I have to go check on other students now. Good luck, boys!" She left cheerily with a wave.

"I'll do the laundry," Ron volunteered after she left, swallowing a mouthful of eggs. "Mum always made go to the muggle grocery store that's over the hill in the village... Never done the laundry though." Harry grimaced, knowing that Ron would most likely regret his decision in hindsight.

"Grocery store for me," Harry muttered without looking up from his eggs. Draco and Blaise made eye-contact. They neglected to say aloud who was going where, knowing that their choices were obvious.

An hour and a half later, Draco and Harry stood inside the entrance of the store. Harry's expression was rather dull, while Draco's barely concealed amazement. He had never been to a grocery store, and he was rather curious as to why Muggle stores always seemed to be at least twice as large as wizarding ones.

The Slytherin spun around when he became aware of a rattling sound from behind, only to see Harry pushing a shopping cart towards him. "I think we should head to the produce section first. Then we'll work our way around the store. Does that sound alright?" Without waiting for a reply, Harry set off towards the produce with Draco following behind him.

"Er... Draco? Do you have any idea what we actually need to buy?" Harry asked, stopping the cart in front of a pile of citrus. Draco stopped besides him, shaking his head, and picked up an orange to examine. "Helpful, aren't you?" Harry asked in an irritable tone.

The other flashed a cocky grin and placed the orange back on the top of the pile, which only resulted in the fruit falling to the ground. Draco's smile faded, and he began to frown at the fruit, which was now accompanied by several other oranges which had followed. Now, Harry grinned. "Well, pick them up!" Draco scowled before stiffly dropping to his knees and collecting the multiple oranges and muttering to himself.

"And you complain of my not being helpful!" he exclaimed, dropping the citrus onto the display and brushing dust off of his suit. Harry only raised an eyebrow and smirked, looking pointedly back at the ground. Draco followed his gaze suspiciously and gave a sigh of exasperation when he found that the fruits landed themselves on the ground once more. Rolling his eyes, Draco began to replace the oranges on the stand one by one carefully. However, when only four oranges remained on the dirty floor, they came tumbling back towards the ground. The Slytherin gritted his teeth and stood, oranges clutched in both hands.

"We're buying oranges," the boy growled, dropping them into the shopping cart and stalking past Harry towards the nearby bread, where he waited as Harry placed several oranges back onto the stand, laughing, and snatched a few other fruits from nearby displays.

Minutes later, Draco's lip curled in slight distaste as he and Harry proceeded down an aisle surrounded by rows and rows of boxed cereal. He really didn't see how or why Muggles must box or can all of their food. It didn't seem very cultured to Draco.

"Any idea what you would like?" Harry's voice interrupted Draco's musings. The blonde gestured vaguely to a box of Kelloggs. Harry shrugged, grabbing a box of cereal right below the one that Draco had gestured to and tossing it into the cart.

"Harry, I understand if you wanted a different sort of the... what's it called? But it's the same kind. The one you grabbed is just cheaper," Draco commented cautiously, grabbing the the more pricey box of cereal. Harry stared blankly before catching the other's wrist.

"Right. It's _cheaper_, so what in Merlin's beard are you doing?" Harry asked, his brow was furrowed in confusion.

Draco gave him an annoyed look, clearly wondering how thick Harry was. "Obviously, Harry, this one," he shook the box of cereal in his hand, "is better because it is expensive. Quality comes with a price."

Understanding now danced in Harry's eyes, and he chuckled. "Just because this one is generic doesn't make it worse... it tastes the same, really." Draco began to protest, but was cut off by Harry, who was still chuckling. "This conversation seems quite similar to another that we've had this week, doesn't it?"

"Now, it's hardly fair to categorize Muggles and some edible wood-shavings together!" Draco began, horrified.

"Is it really? It seems to me that it's just classifying one as better than the other, something that you always seem to be doing," Harry replied, looking doubtfully towards the ceiling.

Draco winced. "Perhaps you were right on the topic of Muggles, but this is just outrageous! We'll get your ridiculous generic food, but you have to ask Blaise what he thinks about the quality!" With that, the boy dropped the box back onto the shelf, freed his wrist, and steered the cart down the aisle at a quick pace.

Harry appeared next to him. "Slow down, Draco! I was joking! A bad joke, perhaps, but I wasn't trying to..." He looked at Draco's stony face. "Look, I'm sorry. I can tell you're trying, though I haven't the slightest idea as to why. I didn't mean to upset you."

"I don't need your apology," Draco started stiffly, but he made the mistake of looking down at Harry. The boy's earnest and almost begging expression struck something within Draco. "But you are forgiven, I suppose, on one condition," he conceded, pausing. "We get the brand cereal," he requested lightly.

A smile broke out on Harry's face, and he hit Draco lightly on the arm. "That's a heavy price for your forgiveness, don't you think?" He scoffed playfully.

The blonde grasped the arm that Harry had hit theatrically. "I am wounded! I am very much wounded, dear sir, not only bodily, but mentally, too! You leave me in emotional distress that my forgiveness means so little to you that you wouldn't buy a meager box of crumbs."

Harry laughed loudly, drawing the attention of a little elderly woman who had just begun to browse the aisle. Upon hearing Harry, however, she left the aisle before selecting her cereal muttering, "Hooligans, they are." Harry flushed from both the lady's comment and Draco's theatrics.

"If it is but a 'meager box of crumbs,' then what makes you crave it so?" he retorted, eyes twinkling.

Draco paused. "You're still asking Blaise... and let it be known that I absolutely did _not _ consent in the matter," he replied before pushing the cart back down the aisle. Harry followed, smirking at his triumph.

"You don't honestly expect the professors will make us do more slave work, do you?" Draco inquired moments later. They were parked directly in front of one of the aisles that was stocked with cleaning supplies. Before Harry could answer, Draco continued, "Then I'm not setting foot in that aisle. It brings back horrid memories."

Harry stared, both amused and skeptical. "Really? Cleaning a house for a grade qualifies as 'horrid memories?" He scoffed, seizing the shopping cart from Draco and promptly pushing it in the aisle.

"Not exactly..." Draco immediately defended himself, though he flushed slightly. "For all you know, I could have had scarring memories of household chores at the Manor!" The Slytherin immediately began scolding himself internally. It was not a little known fact that his childhood was a very luxurious one.

The brunette turned slowly, eyebrows raised. "But you don't," Harry stated, a note of laughter in his voice. "However, I do have unpleasant memories of chores..." He turned away and Draco frowned and wondered how the Muggles had treated Harry. He also wondered if Harry was going to try to talk to him about himself. This thought was met with the faintest touch of hidden hysteria; he had never been very well-suited to emotional talks.

"And yet I have no problem whatsoever in going into this aisle. Man up, won't you?" Harry finished with a devious smirk. Draco's frown morphed into a scowl, though he was secretly relieved that he wouldn't be treated to a heart-to-heart.

"Bloody Gryffindor," he muttered as he reluctantly stalked after Harry, who was still smirking.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" he asked, now facing a wall of supplies. "Besides, we needed to get dishwasher tablets, unless you wanted to either do the dishes by hand again or eat off dirty dishes."

Draco's scowl deepened. "You could have just said that, you know. And I never needed to 'man up,' as you so rudely put it!" He crossed his arms across his chest childishly.

"You're a bit late on that one, I think," the other hummed, choosing a pack of the tablets and throwing them in the cart. Harry looked seriously up at Draco. "Though I do think that if _you_ think that cowering from an aisle in a grocery store is without the need to man up, as I so gently put it," he laughed. "Then you've got quite the stretch of the imagination."

Draco uncrossed his arms and leaned back. "I've half the mind to hex you for that!"

"You? Hex me? The idea is preposterous! Why, the world must be ending when Draco Malfoy hexes me of all people!" Harry chortled with twinkling eyes.

"Of all people?" Draco forgot his irritation. Did Harry know that Draco now found himself attracted to Harry? "I haven't the slightly idea as to what you're talking about, Harry."

The boy, in question, chuckled. "Either my jokes are just awful today, or you really just have an awful sense of humour."

"I resent that!" Draco exclaimed. "I have a fantastic sense of humour, I'll have you know."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Or both, if it suits you," he compromised.

"Bloody Gryffindor," the blonde growled with false irritation as Harry grabbed a pack of paper towels. Draco felt uneasy as he watched the boy. He knew that if anyone else had playfully insulted him as Harry had just done, he would certainly be jinxed... Draco would also gleefully dock points from his house. However, he didn't even wish to punish Harry at all. Draco followed Harry quietly to another aisle, wondering what he was getting himself into.

Blaise strode briskly into the laundromat, an expression of subtle disgust painted upon his face. Ron wandered in absently after him with a sack of laundry, his eyes curiously scanning the room. The Gryffindor's face dropped; he had been hoping that it would be a simple job, but his hopes were crushed with one quick glance at the surrounding machinery. "Blooding Hell," he muttered to himself in exasperation before leaning towards Blaise with his gaze set firmly on a nearby washing machine. Ron hadn't made eye-contact with Blaise since the night before. He wasn't yet sure if he should be thrilled, furious, or suspicious of Blaise's kiss.

"Do have any idea at all how to work these things?" Ron murmured to Blaise, not wanting to be overheard by any of the locals.

"Not in the least," came the light reply. It was not lost upon the Slytherin that the other boy was deliberately avoiding eye-contact. Strangely, he found that the action merely amused him. To him, it seemed ironic that a Gryffindor, who were known for being reckless and brave, was avoiding anything that may result in confrontation. "I was sure your father, who seems to be more Muggle than wizard, who have taught you," Blaise added in a calm voice.

Ron looked at him heatedly. "What would you know? My father is a greater wizard than yours, I'm sure," he replied angrily. "Though it does seem to have slipped my mind who your father is. Was he one of your mother's dead husbands, or do you even know who your father is?" he raged on.

Blaise simply pursed his lips and laid a hand on Ron's shoulder. "I never asked my mother who he was," he said tightly, "However, I'm sure you'll be shocked to hear that insulting your family was not my main intention, nor has it ever been, as you may recall." Blaise paused and looked at Ron, who was staring, red-faced, at him with a confused expression. He sighed. "Oh, come now, have I ever insulted your family in front of you?"

Ron thought for a moment and began to shake his head. He stopped abruptly. "'In front of you,'" he quoted with a raised eyebrow. "Yes, I believe you have insulted my family."

"Of course, but have I insulted them in your presence?" Ron reluctantly shook his head. "You see? There was nothing to get yourself worked up about."

There was a brief silence in which Ron tried to follow Blaise's logic. Basically, he was saying that he didn't normally insult Ron's family in front of him, and it wasn't his main intention... so he shouldn't be upset. What? "No, I really don't see," Ron stated in a bewildered voice.

Blaise frowned. That hadn't really worked how he had planned, he now realized. Without stating his motive, provoking Ron to make eye-contact, his reasoning sounded completely absurd.

"Let's just call it even, shall we?" he offered, unwilling to risk his pride to make peace.

Unfortunately for Blaise, Ron was quickly gaining back confidence. "I don't think I will, thanks," he replied slowly. "If insulting me wasn't your aim, what was?" he questioned, walking cautiously towards an empty washer machine. Blaise didn't reply, instead eying the various knobs and buttons on the appliance.

"Blaise?" The Slytherin opened the door to the washer and looked in, decidedly ignoring Ron. "Blaise," Ron drew out the name. The other slammed the door shut and gritted his teeth uncharacteristically. Ron laughed and repeated the name once more.

"Getting rather repetitive, aren't we?" Blaise scowled. He pulled out a few handful of clothes from the sack after opening the machine door again and shoved the clothes into the wash.

"Absolutely. I thought you didn't know to use the thing?" Ron looked on curiously as Blaise inserted some money into a slot and stared at the knobs once more before pushing and turning a few.

Blaise closed his eyes, relieved that Ron seemed to have give up his pursuit of discovering his earlier goal. "It gives you options of what to do that are quite obvious. It's just a matter of whether I chose the correct ones," he explained, now leaning against the metal contraction.

Ron nodded with disinterest. Then a glint came into his eye. "Blaise?"

"You have to be one of the most stubborn, most irritating people, I have ever had the misfortune to come across... with the exception of Draco," Blaise stated bitterly. He moved away from the machine, as it was now vibrating violently, and sat on a nearby bench.

"What can I say? You Slytherins aren't too kind to each other, are you?" Ron chortled, sitting next to Blaise, who looked at him out of the corner of his eye.

Blaise retorted, "What would you say if I told you we were kind to one another behind closed doors?"

Ron gaped before gathering himself together. "I would wonder why it was only behind closed doors," he said thoughtfully.

"We're not kind people, Ron. Draco and I are about as good as friends as Slytherins get, if you must know." A deep chuckle escaped his throat.

"Yes, yes. I must know. In fact, I must also know... What was your main intention earlier?" Ron questioned with a smirk.

Blaise grimaced. "Is there any way to convince you to stop talking about that? No, of course not." He muttered to himself, answering his own question. "Maybe I _was_ just insulting your family."

"No, you weren't. You wouldn't have tried to hide that... I'm pretty sure," Ron contradicted with a bored facial expression. He knew he was not the most observant person on the face of the planet; however, it was painfully obvious to Ron that whatever Blaise was hiding was much personal then that.

Half an hour later, Ron was still rather persistently trying to force information from Blaise, who was staring blankly at the washing machine and shaking his head "no," every now and then.

The machine stilled and beeped; Blaise turned to Ron. "Get the clothes out," he commanded idly, earning a glare from Ron, who stood anyway and complied.

He opened the door to the machine and let out a string of swear words. "Blaise... what did you do to the clothes?"

Blaise waved a hand lazily and closed his eyes. "I washed them," the Slytherin answered carelessly. His tone was arrogant; clearly Blaise thought that Ron was being rather thick.

"Look at them," Ron said faintly, ignoring the other's irritable reply. Blaise groaned and stood reluctantly, joining Ron in peering into the machine. "I liked that shirt!" Ron added indigently.

Blaise quickly picked up the damp clothing, holding it at arm's length, so as to not get his suit wet, and sorted through the clothes. "None of it's mine," he smirked, handing the pile to Ron. "So nothing seems to be out of order."

"Nothing seems to be out of order?" Ron repeated. "My bloody shirt's pink! And so is Harry's... blimey, it looks like you even turned one of Malfoy's pink!" Blaise shrugged, though he imagined Draco would certainly not be very happy when he found his shirt was a shade of pink.

A young woman nearby looked up when she heard this, snorting, and called, "I recommend not putting any of your red clothing in the wash with your whites." She turned away, immersed in a book as she waited on her own laundry,

Ron glared again at Blaise before stuffing the clothing into a nearby dry, paying, and fiddling with the knobs with a bemused expression. Blaise chuckled and put more clothes in the wash, this time cautiously avoiding putting any of the reds and whites in the same load.

"Now will you tell me?" Ron asked, shutting the door to the dryer loudly. Blaise gave him a disbelieving look. "You ruined my shirt!" the Gryffindor defended himself.

"Madame Malkin's sells those things as undershirts in packs of five for five sickles! Hardly a major loss, I think. Besides, you can still wear it," Blaise replied. He was not willing to give in quite so easily. Ron looked a him pointedly. "No."

"You're buying me a new shirt," Ron grumbled, collapsing back on the bench.

"What? I'll probably already have to buy Draco a new one; and his clothes are not cheap," Blaise protested; he wasn't sure if he liked this new change of subject anymore than the last one.

They were on their last load of laundry. Ron had repeated Blaise's name _nonstop_ for the past hour and a half. Blaise, in question, gritted his teeth in annoyance; while Ron's tactic was incredibly childish, it was very productive.

"I was hoping to get you to look at me! Now will you please _stop talking_?" he finally snapped, glowering at the other boy, who had, indeed, fallen silent.

This predicament only lasted a few seconds, much to Blaise's disappointment.

"What! You-what-? Look at you? How did you even notice that! Blaise-Zabini, what do you-? What's your real goal?" he rambled on for five minutes. Blaise rolled his eyes. Honestly, did this boy ever stop talking? He glanced around the room; not very many people remained in the laundromat.

"Stop talking," he ordered, narrowing his eyes. Ron took no heed of his words and continued to splutter.

Blaise crushed his lips to Ron's in one last desperate, not that he'd ever admit it, attempt to silence the boy. In Blaise's opinion, it didn't matter how much he fancied a person; it was simply not allowed for anyone to talk for more than an hour, a time frame which Ron had surpassed without any sign of stopping.

Ron stiffened beneath him, not moving. He was barely able to able to think clearly. Last night, when Blaise had kissed him, it was thought provoking. Now, it was... Ron couldn't tell. But he liked it, and so, he slowly responded... only to have Blaise pull away with a smirk; his dark eyes were shining.

"What Blaise Zabini wants, Blaise Zabini gets," the Slytherin stated casually. To him, he was merely expression a fact. Ron, who was looking at him with a mix of frustration and confusion, wasn't sure if the other was referring to his silence or something else.

"That's probably not a good thing, actually..." Ron commented absently. He studied the boy; the same mix of frustration and confusion remained in his face.

"It is for me," Blaise replied, not seeing where it could be bad and, frankly, not caring.

Ron frowned. "What are you going to do when you don't get what you want? It's not possible

to get everything!" he argued.

Blaise looked thoughtful. "I never thought about it, really..." He trailed off, thinking. Then, Blaise's eyes snapped into focus and he looked at Ron seriously. "What Blaise Zabini wants, Blaise Zabini gets. Always. It may be matter of time, but it _will_ happen." The boy's eye's gleamed with determination.

For a moment, Ron believed it, too and it left him edgy. "What is it that you want, anway?" he demanded, falling back on irritation in response to Blaise's kiss... and for not telling him why. Gryffindors liked to hear things outright, or at least Ron did.

"To teach divination," the boy replied sarcastically. "No, what do you think?" His only response was a heated glare from Ron. He sighed with exasperation. "I've been doing the Zabini version of flirting on you for the past few days. Is that answer enough, Ronald?" Blaise finally answered firmly, looking Ron in the eye.

"Don't call me 'Ronald," the Gryffindor muttered before his eyes widened. "Are you saying you fancy me?" Now, it was Blaise's turn to glare. "Right," Ron exhaled through his teeth. "Then kiss me again, and I'll think about it."

Blaise obliged, smirking. After all, he does always get what he wants. Ron did not hesitate to return the kiss this time. Ron noticed for the first time that Blaise's lips were very soft. He almost snorted, wondering how many times a day the other moisturized his skin. They separated. Somehow, Blaise was still smirking. 'Prat,' Ron thought.

"What the bloody Hell is Zabini version of flirting, anyway?" he grumbled, stumbling over to the load of clothes in the dryer.

At this, Blaise scoffed. "Please, Blaise Zabini's flirting should not even be _classified _as flirting. Blaise Zabini's flirting is the best the world has ever seen." Ron rolled his eyes, almost laughing aloud, but he sighed and relented as Blaise eagerly crushed his lips to Ron's a second time.


	9. Veritaserum

Ron was the first to wake up, as far as he knew. There was no owl rapping irritably on the window, and there was no professor barging into the house... yet. Only the bright sunlight shining through the window. The small, digital clock that was on a nearby bed stand alerted Ron that it was "8:50," with a bright green light. The professor, whoever it would be this time, would be arriving in ten minutes time. Ron closed his eyes again before heaving himself out of his warm, cozy bed with reluctance. He padded across the wooden floor with bare feet, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and wondering briefly if Blaise was awake. His bedroom door creaked as he opened it and semi-conscientiously shuffled towards the bathroom, which was cluttered with odd toiletries and cleaning supplies. The boy dropped his hands from his face, and his eyes fell on an empty glass sitting on the kitchen sink. Ron smiled to himself as he seized the glass and began to fill it with water. Perhaps it was time for his revenge on Draco.

Moments later, a very loud yell jerked the household from its quiet wake. "Weasley! My hair is only lovely, instead of it's usual fantastically perfect, thanks to you! My father will hear about this-" Draco began. He was standing directly in front of Ron, jabbing his index finger at the latter's chest. The intended intimidating effect was ruined, however, by Draco's unusually red face and dripping hair.

Ron chuckled and shook his head. "First off, your hair looks far from lovely, I must say. Second... You're really going to tell your father that a _Weasley _dumped water on your _precious_ head?" He mocked, a sarcastic glint shining in his eye. Draco glared and opened his mouth to reply angrily when Blaise beat him to the it.

"I feel it necessary to ask; does Lucius really hear of things as often as you plan?" The Slytherin stepped out of the shadows of a corner in the room; his eyebrow raised with a smirk planted firmly on his face when Draco turned towards him, scowling furiously.

"You really need to stop doing that, Blaise, popping out of corners. It would make people assume you've been watching me in my sleep."

Blaise's other eyebrow raised cockily. "I'm sure you don't think that, Draco," he purred derisively. He eyed the door expectantly as he said this, and seconds later, the door slammed open to reveal a straggled-looking Harry looking wildly from one side of the room to the other. His wand was held out in his hand, ready to defend himself if the need arose.

"My, my, Potter. Always the hero... even for the most," Blaise paused, with a decidedly irritating expression. "_Surprising _people." The Slytherin looked pointedly at Harry and Draco.

Meanwhile, Ron glanced curiously at Harry."Eh. Blaise makes a good point, Harry. You were ready to save Malfoy? That is, if there really was something mental in here... like an angry Hermione or something of the sort." He asked his friend; his face was rather clueless.

Harry flushed lightly, lowering his wand . "I wasn't thinking... Didn't realize it was Malfoy's room, anyway." No one else, besides Draco, was completely convinced. Ron was confused, but gave a shrug and wondered if he could convince Harry to cook breakfast. Blaise, on the other hand, seemed smug and satisfied that he had managed to sufficiently manipulate most everyone in the house at an early hour.

"I'm sure, Potter." Blaise smirked. Then a rather small knock came from downstairs. Draco's scowl disappeared, replaced with a look of frustration.

Ron guessed his thoughts happily and commented slyly, "You don't have time to dry your hair, Malfoy."

The scowl reappeared on Draco's face as Ron pushed past him easily and headed towards the front door.

For the first time that morning Harry looked a Draco, having been confused by Ron's mocking statement. He took in the dripping wet hair and clothing... He also noticed the damp spot on the bed near Draco's pillow and the boy's angry expression. A grin spread across his face; Draco was wearily aware of the grin before Harry exploded into laughter. Now, Draco looked offended.

"That's it," Draco raised his hands with determination. "I'm not going downstairs. I will not allow the professor to see my hair like this."

Harry attempted to muffle his laughter by clamping a hand over his mouth. Draco raised an eyebrow. "Really, I don't see how it's amusing, Harry," he huffed, still looking offended.

Harry managed to noticeably calm down a bit before commenting lightly, "I don't know, Draco. You seemed to find it hilarious when you did the same thing to Ron." He trailed off, looking to the side. Draco seethed, though his cheeks colored slightly. "Besides," Harry added, thinking. "The professor won't like it if you don't show up."

"Out," the other boy demanded with clenched teeth and clenched fists. Harry obeyed with a taunting grin, knowing that he had won the battle.

After combing his hair, drying his face and torso, and stiffly pulling on his new muggle clothing, Draco crept quietly down the stairs, unwilling to draw any attention to himself. He spotted the other three boys and quickly assumed a stony glare. Ron and Harry were slumping lazily couch, looking like drunks when compared to Blaise, who was sitting rigidly upright at the opposite end of the couch. Draco marched into the room and took a seat in an empty armchair that was rather isolated.

A high, squeaky voice voice greeted him as soon as he sat. "Good morning, Mr. Malfoy! You seem chipper this morning," Draco blinked in confusion, dropping his glare when Professor Flitwick addressed him. "Well, we must get on with our morning now that all four of you are here." The professor clapped once and turned towards the couch.

"Mr. Malfoy, why don't you go sit next to Mr. Potter? We all need to be able to see one another while conversing; it's absurd to do differently, I think," Professor Flitwick ordered politely with a wave of his arm. Draco grudgingly shuffled towards the couch and paused in front of Harry, who was still sprawled on his third of the couch. Harry didn't move, although he acknowledged Draco with a smirk. "Mr. Malfoy, take your seat," the teacher repeated. Draco glared stonily at Harry again before sitting on the very edge of the couch. Had he leaned back, Harry's arm would be draped around his shoulders. Not to mention if he leaned back, Harry and he would be pressed up side to side. Although, Draco nearly snorted, perhaps if he _had _leaned back, Harry would move.

"Okay, boys, today will be your fifth task of the week," Professor Flitwick began. "Each of your parents," he stopped and looked at Harry, "or guardians consented to allow a dose of Veritaserum to be administered to you. The purpose of this task to help you all grow closer and begin to trust one another," Flitwick recited.

"Sir," Blaise interrupted. There was a flash of irritation in his eye that did not escape Flitwick's attention. "Isn't that rather... Counterproductive, sir? Forcing us to tell the truth doesn't qualify as trusting one another. Besides, isn't use of Veritaserum on students illegal?"

"Mr. Zabini, allow me to explain before contradicting me... Two points from Slytherin." Blaise narrowed his eyes. "The use of the potion is not illegal in this case because, like I said previously, your parent or guardian consented to its use. However, don't fall under the conception that we're giving you free reign of each other's secrets. No! I placed a charm on the drink. You won't be able to ask what ever you want. You won't even be asking the questions! No, the Hogwart's professors have prepared a pre-set list of questions that you will answer in the privacy of your rooms; all of your answers will be written down by a diction quill, so you can't guess whose handwriting is whose," Flitwick explained cheerfully.

"Of course, you will discuss the answers, some of which will have been anonymous... figure out who answered what, while you're at it. Does everyone understand?" He looked between the four boys and continued with an excited clap, "Splendid! I'll just be going. Everything you need will be on the kitchen table," Flitwick squeaked merrily, already heading towards the front door. "Good luck, boys!" Then he was gone.

After an hour's procrastination, Harry, Ron, Draco, and Blaise finally assembled around the kitchen table, each with a wary expression that was focused on the several pieces of parchment, which were weighted down to the table with four small bottles of clear liquid and fours quills. Sighing, Harry was the first to step forward and read the parchment aloud.

_Your professor has already explained what you are to do._

_The questions are placed on each of your beds._

_You will answer them individually._

_You've had several days to get to know one another. Now let's see how well you actually **have.**_

"This is ridiculous," Ron muttered immediately to himself after Harry finished reading. He glared at the note furiously.

"Why, Weasel? Have you got something to hide?" Draco sneered. He was glaring just as furiously at the top parchment, however.

"Less than you, Malfoy," the Gryffindor grumbled in reply; he snatched up what he needed and disappeared from the room. After sniffing haughtily, Draco disappeared, as well, followed by Blaise and Harry, who was frowning at the bottle as he remembered Professor Snape threatening to slip the Veritaserum into his pumpkin juice.

_Question 1: Did you have any childhood pets? What did the pet(s) mean to you?  
>Question 2: What are some things you like to do as a secret hobby?<em>

_Question 3: Are you single?_

_Question 4: What do you think about your family?_

_Question 5: How do you feel about Hogwarts?_

_You must answer all of the questions._

After the four boys had finished answering their questions, the scrolls of parchment flew downstairs into the living room, changing colors and order as they flew towards the coffee table. Grudgingly, the students took their seats around the coffee table, idly staring at the collection of parchment in front of them. No one moved for five minutes before a voice that sounded similar to Professor Dumbledore's began, "Guess whom the answer to _Did you have any childhood pets? What did the pet(s) mean to you? _ belongs while writing down your guesses. You have three minutes to prepare. Correct answers will be revealed after you write your answers." Harry tore up a blank sheet of parchment that was sitting on the table and handing it to the others. Ron nodded his thanks and looked around the room for a quill. Harry spotted and retrieved four pens from a nearby shelf and distributed them among the four. Ron, Blaise, and Draco examined the pens carefully, each unsure how to use it, but unwilling to admit it.

" First answer: Ah, I had a canary when I was six years old. I hated it, seeing as it never shut up. Why my mother bought me a muggle animal is beyond me... I have a rather handsome owl, now. At least they're useful... birds. Why does my family seem like to pet birds so much? They're just flying rodents, for Merlin's sake!"

"Second answer is: I'd never had any pets until Hogwarts, seeing as my..er... living quarters were rather small, and my relatives wouldn't let me have one. My aunt had a dog that liked hunting- er- chasing me down, though."

"Third answer: Do house-elves count? If they do, then they stopped my mother from having to socialize with me, which I'm torn between being a good thing or terrible."

"Forth answer: I never had an animal until third year... so even though my owl is a little twit, being able to call him my own is enjoyable and different."

"You done?" Harry inquired as soon as he had placed the paper in the middle of the table. Blaise pocketed the pen looking pleased with himself, as he also put the paper in the middle of the table.

"I am," Blaise said calmly, watching as Ron and Draco wrote down their answers on the paper, now understanding the use of the pen. They glanced up at Harry and nodded, dropping their paper into the pile, which glowed and spat out a different piece of paper at each boy.

"Number one was Draco Malfoy. Number two was Harry Potter. Number three was Blaise Zabini. Number four was Ron Weasley. Please discuss your answers."

Harry looked bored. "I was surprised someone missed number one, Draco, for the first question... Did anyone hear him talking about albino peacocks at Malfoy Manor just the other day?" He paused; the others eyed him wearily, especially Draco, as he couldn't remember speaking of his father's ridiculous peacocks at all in the past week.

There was a brief moment of silence. "Potter, I never speak of my father's peacocks if I can avoid it. They don't actually do anything. Pointless creatures to have roaming the estate; I mean, they don't even help with security. I suppose an intruder may be hindered by confusion, but that is all," Draco finally said cautiously, thinking to himself of the multiple times the peacocks had chased him through the lawns of Malfoy Manor. Rather traumatizing, he thought. Harry stared at him for a moment before shrugging.

"Nothing to interesting about number two," Harry said quickly, "But number three- sorry to hear about your mother, Zabini."

Blaise held up a hand, unwilling for anyone to discuss his family matters. "Nothing interesting about number two, is there? How small were your living quarters? You could have gotten a small animal." Harry glanced at Blaise and saw, by the glint in his eye, that Blaise knew this was a touchy subject for Harry.

"Small enough," Harry ground out, now glaring at Blaise. The other boy simply raised an eyebrow, provoking him to give a specific answer.

"Come now, _Harry_, Dumbledore set this up so we would trust each other," Blaise smirked. Harry didn't notice Draco looking at him with a curious expression.

"You really want to know? I was in a cupboard under some stairs for almost eleven years of my life," Harry finally retorted angrily.

Blaise wasn't entirely sure how to respond to that, so he settled upon, "It appears your dose of Veritaserum hasn't worn off yet." Harry pursed his lip and flushed, avoiding Ron's confused look.

"Maybe not. But, if my dose didn't wear off, then there's the chance that yours didn't, either. What did you mean by 'stopped my mother from having to socialize with me?"

Blaise barely concealed a grimace and answered slowly, "She was busy with other people. The only thing she did was pay for me. House-elves took care of other obligations. Very cunning of you, Potter." He said smoothly, straightening his back even more so than it was before and looking coldly at Harry, who looked rather regretful of his action and shook his head stubbornly. Draco shifted awkwardly in his chair; Blaise never talked about his home-life.

They were saved from any further discussion by the glowing of the parchment on table: "Moving on to question number two. This time, tap your wand against the parchment after you hear the different answers to each question and guess who answered what. Only then will the correct answers be revealed."

"First answer: I read muggle fiction. They really do have too much romance in thier novels. By the way, whenever the rest of you hear or read this answer, I will assure you that I will kill you with no regrets should it leave this house before we get back to Hogwarts. When we're there, I shall simply _Obliviate_ you."

"Second answer: I scrapbook! No! I didn't mean to say that! Er, I meant to say I...uh... cook. I'm not even sure why, to be honest. I hate cooking, but I do it anyway."

"Third answer: Secret hobby? I suppose gambling over really small things. I mean _small_ things. It's not a problem, honest! Why did I say that? Of course it was honest! I'm on this bloody Veritaserum!"

"Fourth answer: I sincerely hate Dumbledore for this, let it be noted. I enjoy sketching and singing, albeit the only chance I get to do the latter is when I cast a _silencio_ in the shower. Though one time I did forget to cast the charm... one of my dorm mates walked in," Dumbledore's voice gave a sinister sort of chuckle. "Not that he remembers," the voice paused. "Anymore."

Draco spoke as soon as Dumbledore finished. "I bet Blaise is our closet artist; aren't you, Blaise?" Blaise said nothing, but shrugged elegantly. Ron and Harry exchanged a glance before staring at Blaise in contemplation. They nodded.

"Draco probably is our gambler, considering he has the most money. You should really quit, by the way. Also, Draco, I recommend your never taking Veritaserum again. It makes you sound drunk compared to how you normally speak," Harry broke in, remembering the informal manner that the second answer had been spoken in. Draco scowled and remained silent. Next to Harry, Ron's ears turned red, however.

Blaise spoke, gazing coolly at Harry, "I believe Ron is the cook, assuming he must contribute to his family chores. That leaves you to be the muggle romantic. My, Potter, I never realized that the "Boy-Who-Lived" had such high priorities."

Harry muttered something that sounded like, "Suit yourself," before taping the parchment with his wand, ignoring Blaise's cold demeanor.

"The first answer belonged to Blaise Zabini. The second belonged to Harry Potter. Ronald Weasley's answer was the third, and Draco Malfoy's answer was the fourth. How many of these did you guess correctly? And for those of you who lied about you answer, ask yourself why you fibbed."

Ron snickered. "Muggle romances. Really, Blaise? You've just lost any respect I had for you." Blaise glared at Ron with no malice. "Emotionless Slytherin, my ass." Ron laughed easily, not noticing Harry moving over and standing near Draco.

"Singing is actually a hobby of yours, then? Drawing, too?" Draco didn't respond, but gazed sternly at his folded hands, which were placed neatly in his lap. "Are you any good at sketching or is another thing a Malfoy _can't_ do?" Harry joked.

"Please, Harry, any Malfoy, especially myself, can do anything better than most anyone," Draco scoffed. The other boy snorted in disbelief.

"Except in dueling, academics, quidditch... need I go on?" Harry asked innocently.

"The teachers favor Gryffindors, but the point is people recoil in admiration every time they accidentally catch a glimpse of one of my drawings." Harry's eyes twinkled.

"Prove it, then."

"What? Why would I show any sketches of mine to you? Merlin's beard!" Draco exclaimed, surprised.

"Scared, Malfoy, of showing an ex-rival your meager drawings?" Harry quoted. He realized this sort of dialogue seemed to be becoming a rather frequent occurrence.

"You wish."

-8-8-

"Question number three this is: Are you single? Your answers will be played back without serious discussion." The voice of Professor Dumbledore returned; Harry could have sworn he heard some mischief in the headmaster's voice.

"Blaise Zabini answered: Single? Am I single? What sort of question is that, honestly? If you must know, I am _technically _single. Not for long, however. I'm sure one Ronald Weasley will soon relent to the seduction powers of Blaise Zabini."

Ron flushed upon hearing this and glared faintly at Blaise, who appeared unaffected. Meanwhile, Harry closed his eyes and leaned back on his seat, hoping to forget what he had just heard. Draco just shook his head idly, trying desperately to remember what exactly he had said as a response when influenced by the Veritaserum. The potion always made the taker's memory slightly hazy.

"Harry Potter answered: I think so? I kissed Cho Chang, whom I suppose I liked, around Christmas, and there's been nothing since then. Not really sure if I want anything to happen, anyway... the kiss was rather wet. She was crying all over me. I may be starting to fancy- nevermind."

Harry cringed as his answer was repeated and kept his eyes shut. Draco's eyes, on the other hand, hardened. He pursed his lips, straining his memory once again for what he had answered.

"Ron Weasley answered: Yes? No? God dammit. Bloody fucking Zabini- I don't know how to answer this! Bloody hell..."

Blaise, in response to this, smirked and looked quite triumphant. Ron, however, groaned and slumped back against his seat, covering his eyes with his hands. Draco chuckled and glanced over at Harry, who still had his eyes shut. The Slytherin wondered and hoped that Harry had fallen asleep.

"Draco Malfoy answered: No. That ridiculous Pansy Parkinson seems to think I am in a relationship with her, however. She is quite honestly seriously misguided, I must say. Although I may not be in a relationship, I do hope _something_ will emerge between Harry and myself," there was a pause before Dumbledore's voice continued. "I sincerely hope I didn't just say what I think I said. I promise, if I did say that, then I never considered it before, so bugger off."

The normally pale boy flushed scarlet and stood. "I believe I will excuse myself now," he said in a firm, deadpan voice. However, as Draco began to walk away, refusing to look at Harry, the voice erupted from the pile of parchment once more.

"No one is permitted to leave the company of the others until all of the questions' answers have been revealed," the voice of Dumbledore stated calmly. "If you try, you'll only find yourself entering the same room with the parchment every time you try to exit. It's much easier just to stay put."

Draco scowled and tried to exit the room despite the warning. As expected, he only reappeared in the room he had just left. Muttering curses at Dumbledore (_"I swear, the old coot planned this... either that, or he's listening in,)_ he made his way back to his seat and sat down briskly. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Blaise's smug stare, Ron's gaping, and Harry's confused gaze. Draco closed his eyes briefly and took a breath. "I'd try to remind you, Potter and Weasley, that staring is rude, but I assume you never learned. Weasley's mother is about as barbaric as her son, and Potter's mother is dead. Blaise, stop smirking; it's never suited you." Ron's eyes flashed angrily.

With that, Draco settled back on his seat, gazing furiously at his hands, mentally berating himself and swearing never to drink Veritaserum again. Come to think of it, he wondered why he had drunk the potion to begin with. Surely if he didn't, no one would know? Blaise probably thought of that, explaining why he was so smug. Draco groaned quietly before Dumbledore's voice appeared once more.

Harry didn't seem to care at all about the next question; he was still looking at Draco with a befuddled expression.

"Proceeding now to question number four, 'What do you think about your family?' No discussion is necessary," Dumbledore's voice spoke. "Ron Weasley answered: Well, this is an interesting question. Er. Everyone in my family is fantastic, simply amazing- annoying, but amazing. And then there's me, the second to youngest son and average. I think the only thing I'll be remembered by, once I leave Hogwarts, is helping Harry out here and there. Harry's like a brother to me, amazing. Bloody hell, I love my family, believe that, and I wouldn't have it another way."

"Draco Malfoy answered: My father is inspirational, if a bit demanding. Or rather very demanding, but Malfoy's must always be in control. It's one of the first ten rules of being a Malfoy. Anyway, I care for my father, though I don't always agree with all of his... Notions. I think he wants me to be exactly like him. My mother, meanwhile, is lovely and elegant. I'm quite fond of her. Should anyone insult my mother... Or my father, I suppose... He should expect a incredibly painful hex coming his way. And as for Aunt Bella, she's terrifying," Dumbledore's voice continued without a halt.

"Blaise Zabini answered: Family? I suppose you're referring to my mother? Oh, we get along fine as acquaintances. Nothing more. Although, I do suppose I have her to thank for my amazing seduction skills and good looks. She does seem to pick up the most wealthy, attractive, and interesting people..."

"Lastly, Harry Potter said: The Dursleys are thick, narrow-minded, and terrible people. Even though they're related to me by blood, I consider the Weasleys to be more of a family than the Dursleys. Ron and his family are some of the best people I have ever met."

There was a silence; hearing each other's familial issues seemed a bit too personal for conversation. Each boy stared pointedly at their lap or shoes, except for Blaise, who looked determinedly at the center of the table. He was itching to pull out his wand and set the paper's on fire.

"And now for the last question, How do you feel about Hogwarts? You are at liberty to discuss answers if you wish." Dumbledore said cheerfully. "Draco Malfoy answered: Hogwarts is my childhood. When I'm thirty and still have great hair, I'm sure Hogwarts will one of the first things I think of. I suppose by that time, I'll probably only remember the pleasant things that happened, but there are plenty of objectionable occurrences and teachers at Hogwarts, of course. That oaf, Hagrid, for instance, and his bloody hippogriff. Parkinson for another- I'll regret saying this, but it'll kill me if Hogwarts is destroyed... That's figurative, of course."

Blaise, who was sitting in the chair near Draco, leaned towards the other Slytherin and muttered, "You're going soft, Draco. You should have been in Hufflepuff." Draco stiffened, but said nothing.

"Blaise Zabini said: Hogwarts is a brilliant school, which has somehow been able to make me even more perfect than I was before... Because of it's education, of course. Though I must admit, there have been more... Acceptable people at Hogwarts than in any other location which I have visited. I suppose Hogwarts is dear to me."

At this, Draco raised an eyebrow with a snicker, leaned towards Blaise and murmured in a low voice, "You're one to talk. 'Dear to me," he quoted, snickering. Blaise scowled briefly before returning his attention to the center of the table.

"Ron Weasley answered: Hogwarts is like a bigger version of the Burrow... but cleaner and fancier with more food, though it doesn't beat mum's. You got the people who are like my mum... The teachers, Percy, and Hermione... The family ghoul... Snape, Filch, and Bloody Baron... and the rest of the family, who are all different. Oh, I guess you also have the gits, like you Malfoy, and Umbridge,who are like the garden gnomes of my house."

"Ron,"said Harry, laughing, after Dumbledore finished speaking. "That has got to be one of the strangest and most accurate descriptions I have ever heard."

The red-haired boy flushed slightly and defended himself. "Well, it's true!" He huffed.

"Obviously, Weasley. You were on Veritaserum. Of course, you think it's true," Draco commented dryly, examining his nails idly.

Ron opened his mouth to retort, only to be cut off by Dumbledore's voice. "Harry Potter said: Hogwarts is a savior. It got me away from the Dursleys and introduced me to most everything that I love. If I don't get accepted to become into Auror training in two years, I think it'd be great to come back to Hogwarts and teach. I mean, my grades aren't top notch, sure. But I usually do alright, especially in Defense Against the Dark Arts."

With that last word, the pile of parchment burst into flames on the center of the table, which seemed to remain untouched by the fire. "You are free to have the rest of the day to yourselves, " came Dumbledore's voice for the last time.

Each boy stood hurriedly and returned to their rooms without further discussion.

-8-8-

Fifteen minutes later, Draco lay on his back in on his bed with a pillow over comfortably over his face. He was cursing Dumbledore for the entire muggle appreciation week plan, which had led to his downfall, in Draco's perspective. Suddenly, a rushed knock at the door roused him from his grousing.

Draco pulled the pillow from off his face and snapped, "Potter! I'm assuming it's you. Do Gryffindors always have to be so annoying by breaking the silence and peace? For all you know, I could be doing schoolwork or trying to sleep? Ah, yet again, I'm trying to reason that you have manners. And yet again, I seem to have forgotten that you have none, seeing as your mother was dead before she could teach you any."

Harry's voice came through the door, "Do Slytherins always have to be so dramatic? Wait, wait- I apologize. It's only you who makes a show out of everything, from what I've seen. Besides, you're obviously not sleeping now, and we weren't assigned any school work over the week."

Harry stepped into the room, caught sight of the other boy sprawled on top of his bed. Draco's pillow was placed as on his stomach, and his hair looked ruffled. As soon as Draco realized he was not alone in the room, he rushed to dignify himself by straightening up and trying to calm his hair. He glared at the brunette. Harry glared back.

After a long pause, Draco finally broke the silence. "Yes? Is there a particular reason you barged in here and interrupted me? I was and still am very busy, you know."

"Busy doing what? Combing your hair?" Harry snorted with disbelief. " No, I take that back... Maybe your trying to style it like mine," He paused. "Yeah, I did have a point in coming here, as a matter of fact, I wanted to see your sketches."

"My sketches," Draco repeated dully, staring at Harry, who shifted uncomfortably. Draco blinked and then continued, "Oh, yes. Of course. My sketches. If you will just go get some of them from the bottom of the hallway closet, where I hid them... I'll get the few scattered around this room."

Harry nodded and complied. However, as soon as he had exited the room, the Gryffindor heard a soft clicking sound from behind. He spun around to find that Draco's room door had been shut and locked. Giving a sigh of exasperation and running his hand through messy black hair, Harry knocked on the door three times.

"Bloody hell, Malfoy! What's wrong with you? Irritable git," Harry muttered to himself as he leaned against Malfoy's door.

"Oi, Harry! I have your laundry; I forgot to tell you yes- Mate, is there a reason you're slumped against the Ferret's door?" Ron barreled through the hallway with an armful of clothes suddenly.. Harry straightened immediately, still leaning on the door.

"No, no. Of course not. What were you saying about the laundry?" Harry quickly distracted his friend, eyeing the rather chaotic pile of cloth.

"Oh, well," Ron grinned sheepishly and shoved the clothing towards Harry. "You might notice that some of your stuff is...er... pink, but it's alright. You can still wear it."

Harry laughed loudly and Ron's embarrassed smile grew larger. "You didn't wash the reds with the white, did you?" He finally asked, still chucking.

Ron shrugged and chortled, "Well, we might have... But it was mainly Blaise's fault."

Laughing again, Harry called, "Good job, Blaise!"

"A job by Blaise Zabini is always a job well-done!" Came the answering, easy remark from behind Blaise's closed door. Ron rolled his eyes and leaned forward.

"Everybody's got some colorful clothing now. Even Malfoy, though I think I'll let Blaise handle that," Ron whispered loudly, wearily watching Draco's door.

Blaise's muffled voice sounded once more. "I heard that, Ron, and you'll do no such thing. Anyway, if I could hear that, then so could Draco."

Draco could, in fact, hear the entire conversation that was going on in the hallway, despite the pillow which had been replaced on his head. He payed little attention to it until his name was mentioned. As soon as his clothing was mentioned, Draco was on his feet and striding to the door. He opened it furiously to find a smirking Harry and a very red-faced Weasel, who was muttering, "Bloody hell," under his breath.

"Weasley. What did you do to my clothing?" Draco inquired with flashing eyes, stepping forward angrily.

" Nothing. It's pink, Malfoy, to suit your personality. Blaise will buy you new clothes to replace the lost," Ron replied defensively.

"Ronald Weasley, I never said I'd buy him new things," Blaise opened his bedroom door, looking annoyed. Ron smiled smugly in response.

"You are now," he told Blaise, who frowned.

Draco gritted his teeth. "Damn right you will, Blaise." The fair-haired boy stepped back into his room and locked his door. Closing his eyes, Draco calculated the distance to his bed and stumbled towards it, preparing and succeeding in collapsing face first onto it.

Someone coughed.

"Harry Potter," Draco said slowly, opening his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah. We've met before. I slipped into your room when you were shouting at Ron," Harry waved off the the threat hidden in the other's voice. Draco scowled and shifted so he was sitting to the right of Harry. " Anyway, besides seeing your sketches, I also wanted to tell you to stop sulking like a child."

"Get out of my room, Potter." Draco sighed, standing up and gesturing to the door.

"Thanks, your hospitality overwhelms me," Harry replied, rolling his eyes. He sat on a nearby chair, making himself comfortable. "As a Gryffindor, I also feel that it is my obligation to be incredibly nosy and ask you what did you mean when you were on the veritaserum."

"As a Slytherin, Potter, I feel that it's my obligation to refuse to answer," Draco retorted, avoiding Harry's eyes. "And it's also my obligation as a Malfoy to point out you must be incredibly thick to ask for an explanation."

"Ah, yes, but I'm just a incredibly thick Gryffindor, remember?" Harry replied, raising an eyebrow and polishing his glasses absently.

Draco thought about lying, but there really wasn't another way to take "_Although I may not be in a relationship, I do hope something will emerge between Harry and myself_._"_ He scowled, said nothing, and glared at Harry, who had just finished putting on his glasses.

"Yes?" Harry prompted, now looking up at Draco with imploring eyes.

"Absolutely not. The words were distorted by the potion. I simply meant that I wasn't looking for a relationship, and I hopes are rivalry would end. 'Something will emerge,'" He quoted himself. "Friendship," Draco feigned reluctance as he lied, flinching slightly as he spoke the last words.

The other boy's eye's seemed to lose a bit of their twinkle before he spoke, "I'll hold you by your word that you'll show me your sketches later, yeah?" He stood, faced Draco, looked him over twice over then headed towards the door saying, "Thank Merlin for that," coldly.

Draco bit the inside of his cheek.


End file.
